


A Matter of Perspective

by Cinlat



Series: Tumblr Prompts & Drabbles [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Cathar, Chiss, Companionable Snark, Cross-class shenanigans, Fluff and Angst, Force Use, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Humor, Miraluka, Original Character(s) introductions, Requests, SWTOR, Sarcasm, Togruta - Freeform, Writing Challenges, prompts, space drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 23,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9525371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinlat/pseuds/Cinlat
Summary: Since my main story, Family is more than Blood, is about to begin intersecting classes, I decided to start this little collection of drabbles. These shortish one shots will be my way of introducing the other characters without writing another epic space opera, because those take time.  These will include drabbles, requests, challenges, and anything else that pops into my diabolical mind. Maybe even smut, so rating subject to change.





	1. The Duplicity of War (All Classes)

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it would be fun to cram the Esseles and Black Talon together in one cohesive story. All characters are at different places in their timelines for the purposes of this story. Little of it has anything to do with the actual main storyline. It's just for fun.

**Havoc Squad  
** **(Post Act 3)**

The ship shook again, nearly upending the huddle on the bridge. It wasn't the most unusual conglomeration that Major Fynta Wolfe had been a part of, but it certainly ranked up there. Mostly because Jedi were involved. Two, to be exact. One large Togruta female with a heavy, exotic accent. The other was a Miralukan straight out of Coruscant, if the major had to guess. Basic humanoid biology, dark skin, light brown hair, yet somehow striking in her own way. The decorative bone eye cover added to the woman's appeal.

"You have ten minutes to decide. Good day." The holo of Grand Moff Kilran cut off; silence followed. Then, everyone spoke at once. The captain of the vessel had been killed in the initial attack, leaving an unsure replacement to handle the situation. His first mate did everything in his power to calm the new commander down, while simultaneously trying to coax a command so that they could take action.

Fynta readied herself to add her voice to the fray, when the Miralukan Jedi spoke up. "Enough. Control your emotions." Even though her voice was soft, the authority was clear.

The new captain sputtered. "But Master Jedi, we do not have a Republic senator aboard this vessel. How can we give him something we do not have?" Kilran, the famed _Butcher of Coruscant_ , claimed that a troublesome senator had boarded the ship back on Ryloth, and he wanted her turned over to the Empire.

The bridge shook again, and a frantic voice came over the comms. "Imperial boarders on the maintenance level. Requesting immediate aid!"

Fynta smacked Jorgan's chestplate with the back of her hand while addressing the rest of the group. "You three figure this out. We'll handle the boarders." The Jedi nodded, and the two commandos set off at a jog.

Once in the lift, Jorgan sighed. "Hell of a vacation so far, huh?"

The major grinned at her husband. They were en route to an all-expenses-paid seminar on Alderaan. It had been the first time she and Jorgan had traveled alone since the Corellian fiasco, and they'd chosen to treat it as a mini getaway. However, the war had other plans. "It's just a simple dust up in space. We'll keep the Imps off the ship while their techs fix the hyperdrive, then be on our way again. No problem."

The Cathar snorted, then swore. "Our helmets are in our room." Technically, they had separate rooms, but there was a dividing door that linked the two. It made sneaking around a lot easier.

"Just figured that out?" Fynta raised her hands in surrender when Jorgan shot a glare at her. "It'll be fine, riduur. You heard the Moff, they are on a hunting expedition. Mercs and cannon fodder at best." Jorgan muttered again, and Fynta rolled her eyes. Before either could add more to the argument, however, the lift doors slid open to reveal a Mon Calamari lieutenant and his men under heavy fire. Fynta grabbed her rifle and smiled at her husband. "After you?"

 **Imperial Agent  
** **(Between Act 1 & 2)**

Zolah studied her datapad as while the Sith Pureblood paced in front of her. Darth Kozen relayed the information with clinical detail, leaving nothing to chance. The Chiss Agent respected him for that. "The attack is a diversion. I care not for Senator Ashara, she is but a small voice railing against a giant. This man, however. . . ."

Zolah glanced up to see the image of a portly man of average everything. "His only known name is _The General_ , and he has access to many of our secrets. Intelligence has discovered that he is traveling under an alias to Coruscant with the intention of defecting. This must not be allowed to happen."

A pair in Mandalorian armor leaned against the table, both fully geared for an assault, and neither willing to remove their helmets. "You want him dead or alive?" The woman asked through filters that made her sound disturbingly droid like. Zolah had never worked with a Mandalorian before, but she recognized the woman's dark armor from the database at Sith Intelligence. Cinlat Ejnar, one of the more successful bounty hunters; meaning the brute at her back must be her husband. They were not all that different from one another, she and Cinlat. Both were paid to capture or eliminate high value targets. Working together should prove enlightening.

"Alive, preferably," Kozen answered, leaning next to the petite hunter. "But do what you must."

Cinlat pushed upright and nodded once to her partner. "We'll get the job done."

"Indeed." Zolah hooked her datapad on her belt, deciding it was time to remind the two hunters that she would be accompanying them on this venture. "I've downloaded a diagram of the Republic ship's layout. They will no doubt move the passengers to safety." Approaching the table, Zolah pulled up a holo of the ship in question and maximized the aft section. "We should stow away on the battle droid delivery ship aimed _here_. Once the droids have provided a sufficient distraction, you and I will exit the craft and make our way towards the escape pods. That is where they'll have taken our bounty."

Cinlat's faceplate remained motionless while she studied the plan laid out before her. Finally, she nodded. "Works for me. Verin and I brought the heavy guns."

"Cipher Nine speaks with the authority of the Empire. Your job, hunters, is to keep her alive until she finds the target," Darth Kozen responded, pressing his forefinger into the table as if to drill into them the importance of his order. Zolah would have preferred to bring one of her own along, but Kozen claimed to have worked with these two before and assured her they would get the job done.

"No problem," the Mandalorian man said. "We'll get her there, cryo the target, and bring him back alive."

Cinlat's shoulders rose and fell in silence, something Zolah thought was surely a sigh. Darth Kozen appeared mollified nonetheless. "Very well. Go to your ship, the attack has already begun."

 **Jedi Knight  
** **(Act 1)**

Kaeto Vaa followed the Jedi Master's lead through the ship. The fighting had been fierce, but most were only battle droids, very few humans had stepped foot on the vessel. The Togruta kept her twin blades at the ready, prepared to leap into the fight at a moment's notice. _There is no fear . . ._ she repeated the mantra continuously, even while cleaving a droid in half. _Only peace._ It did little to ease the pounding of her heart, yet light welled within her all the same. Kaeto had never been completely sure how her master fought with such serenity, only hoped it would find her with age.

"Uh, we have a problem," the Republic commando called over their joined comm frequency.

Kaeto and Master Notiac Carlo came to a halt, and the Miralukan pressed the bead in her ear. "Go ahead, Major."

The major sighed, "I found the senator. She was posing as a passenger in order to evade the Empire. Apparently, she's been getting death threats for a few months."

The two Jedi exchanged glances, though it was difficult to read Notiac's expression without eye contact. "Very well," the woman replied with all the patience expected of a Jedi Master. "Is she seeking protection?"

The sound of a muffled argument replied before the commander became clear again. "-then sit on her if you have to. Sorry, sirs. No, she wants to infiltrate the enemy ship and aid in its sabotage. Given her position in the senate, I've dispatched Havoc Squad to shadow her for the duration of her trip." The major paused briefly. "We go where she goes."

Notiac's head tipped slightly to the left, and Kaeto got the impression that wasn't the answer that the other Jedi had expected. The Togruta's blood hummed in her veins at the prospect of another fight. Infiltrating an Imperial ship, destroying their weapons so that they could no longer be used to harm innocents. This was why she'd become a Jedi. _There is no passion, only peace_ , her former mentor's voice whispered in the back of her mind. Kaeto sighed. She'd have been a better soldier than a Jedi.

"Is there a plan to breach the enemy vessel?" Notiac asked calmly.

"We might have discussed a few, hypothetical scenarios," the soldier answered. "Something needs to be done about them. We are outgunned."

Kaeto leapt at the opportunity presented. "I will accompany them, Master Carlo." The woman turned her eyeless features on the Togruta, and Kaeto did her best to sound resolute instead of excited. "I am familiar with the layout of that ship. My presence will expedite the process."

Notiac paused for a long time while she mulled over the options. "Very well, Kaeto. May the Force guide you."

Kaeto Vaa activated her comm bead as she sprinted towards the lift. "Major Wolfe, I will meet you in the shuttle bay."

 **Sith Sorcerer  
** **(Act 2)**

Solish burned a path through the Republic pawns of the lower levels. With each new wave, the Sith left one alive to question. This particular survivor was a female corporal. "Tell me where I can find Senator Ashara," the Sith requested in her most polite of tones.

The woman squirmed in the Cathar's grasp. "What senator?" She rasped.

Solish extended her claws into the soft, human flesh before snapping the corporal's neck. The body slumped to the floor, and the Sith glanced at her apprentice. "Guess she isn't here." _You are being used as a pawn again. Free us and we will make you stronger._ "Shut up," she snapped at the irksome voices crowding about in her mind. They were becoming tireless in their bid for freedom.

Xalek knew better than to question his master's outburst. The Kaleesh warrior chose to remain silent as they stepped over the corpses that littered the hallway. Darth Kozen had insisted upon showing restraint; had cautioned against drawing too much attention, lest the Republic become suspicious. He never said she couldn't defend herself. Solish scanned the charred bodies and shrugged. She'd defended herself a tad aggressively, perhaps, but it was still defense.

The two Sith continued deeper into the ship. Their mission was to find a Twi'lek called Ashara, wrestle her from her Republic bodyguards, and kill the woman over holofeed. Moff Kilran claimed it was to snuff out a minor annoyance while also striking a blow at Republic morale. The simpleton had no idea what was really going on, and Solish was perfectly happy to keep it that way. Not even Xalek knew their true mission.

Glancing up into the security camera, the Sith let electricity build in her palm, folding the Force into it until her entire body reverberated with the sensation. Then, lifting one clawed finger dramatically, she touched the wall where the main circuitry hid. Sparks leapt through the metal, striking out at the rivets that held the durasteel panels in place. It bent to Solish's will, following the path she chose, until the camera above exploded. Not just that camera, but five more down the hall. If that didn't get the bridge's attention, then nothing would. It was time to flush the Jedi out of hiding.

 **Bounty Hunter  
** **(Post Act 3)**

All three hunters stopped when the lights on the ship dimmed. It lasted only a moment, but Verin had little doubt who was to blame. "That little Sith sure is a spit fire," he remarked absently, watching the lights flicker.

"Have you ever met one who wasn't?" Cinlat retorted, every bit as annoyed as she sounded. Cinlat didn't like Sith, Verin wasn't fond of them either, but she had a special distaste for them. Especially since this one was a Cathar, something that went back to her days before becoming a hunter.

"We are almost to the escape pods," the Chiss Imperial commented. She was a lot like Cinlat, no nonsense and a hell of a shot. Both women had operated in perfect unison with only a few words shared between them. Verin felt this was shaping up to be one of their more boring missions despite the fact that they were storming a Republic ship.

Cinlat held up a hand as they approached a juncture. Verin and Cipher Nine flattened themselves against the wall. He activated Cinlat's POV to see what had spooked her and wasn't the least bit surprised to find himself looking at a pretty woman in Jedi robes. His wife didn't much care for Jetii either. In fact, she didn't really care for anyone but him, and sometimes Fynta. She and his little sister were of one mind when it came to Force users.

"I can sense your unease," the woman called out, sounding as calm and serene as expected. "I do not wish to fight you."

"She is Miralukan," Cipher whispered. Somehow, the woman had patched into Verin and Cinlat's comms. He guessed it had something to do with the implants the lined her temple and hairline. "We can't sneak past her."

Cinlat checked the charge on her Rippers and sighed. "We are on a tight schedule, the Republic has already begun their assault on the Talon."

Verin caught where his wife was going and revved the core of his rifle. "You go on, Agent. The missus and I will take care of the Jetii."

Cipher Nine didn't hesitate. She flipped a switch on her belt to activate a stealth generator and vanished from sight. "I'll continue to the target while you distract the Jedi. We'll rendezvous at the pods."

"Sounds like a plan," Cinlat added, swinging around the corner with both blasters held aloft. The Jedi activated her lightsaber, a pretty green color. Verin really wanted one of those someday.

Just as Verin stepped next to his wife with his rifle to his shoulder, the lights on the floor blinked out. His night vision had just kicked in when the emergency lights clicked on. The Jedi had gone rigid, her arm stiff as she held her saberstaff before her. "How about it, Jetii," Cinlat called through the dimness. "Us, or that Sith."

 **Havoc Squad  
** **(Post Act 3)**

"How did we lose her again?" Fynta railed while Aric ran a hand down his face. "I've never met a woman so insistent on getting herself killed." The Cathar shot his commanding officer a pointed look, and she pulled her lips back in a silent snarl. "Don't say it."

Jorgan had spent the last four years of his life growling at his wife for her reckless stunts. Maybe this adventure in babysitting a rambunctious senator would finally open her eyes to what Havoc had to put up with. All gloating aside, Jorgan agreed that Senator Ashara's continued disappearances were getting old. She was a skinny little Twi'lek with a knack for walking quietly and slipping down the wrong hallways. Then, she'd reappear again with a report that there was nothing of interest.

"Master Vaa, have you found the hyperdrive yet?" Fynta asked over her wrist comm. The Togruta knight had split off to disable the hyperdrive, while Havoc, the senator, and a handful of soldiers assaulted the shields. While Fynta waited for a response, she motioned for the soldiers to fan out and begin a search for the troublesome Twi'lek.

" _Nearly there, Major._ "

"Got her," one commando called from up the hallway. He dragged Ashara back by her upper arm, the senator looking none too pleased. "She claimed to be scouting ahead."

"Good work, soldier." Fynta stepped closer and lowered her voice so that only Jorgan and Ashara could hear. "I don't care if you have former military experience, Senator. If you pull another stunt like that, I will leave your ass behind. Am I clear?" It was strange hearing Fynta use strictly Basic cuss words, and the Cathar found that his brain automatically replaced them with Mando'a.

Senator Ashara glared at the major. She was shorter and thinner than Fynta, wearing lightweight body armor in contrast to Fynta's heavy beskar. Still, the Twi'lek did her best to be as big as the woman she faced. Jorgan watched the standoff with mild interest, until Ashara finally backed down.

"Fine, have it your way, Major. But you're missing out on a valuable asset."

Fynta snorted. "Somehow, I think I'll survive."

"Major, I've reached the hyperdrive." Jorgan heard the distinct sound of a lightsaber being deactivated. "Shall I shut it down, or destroy it?"

Fynta kept eye contact with Ashara as she answered. "We're on a tight schedule, I vote destroy and return to base." Originally, the plan had been to sneak aboard and systematically shut down their systems. Leaving a trail of slag would raise alarms, subtle shutdowns, however, would give them room to escape.

"Agreed, I'll meet you back at the shuttle," Kaeto responded, and the link went dead.

Fynta finally turned to face the rest of the men, motioning for everyone to move away from the control panels. "Now, who has the detonator?"

 **Imperial Agent  
** **(Post Act 3)**

"So, you've got me. Me, the secrets in my head, and a belly full of blood." The General was much older than the photo in his file, but Zolah had run a facial recognition program. He might have altered his physiology in order to hide from the Imperials, but there was no fooling the Chiss agent's implants.

Zolah hefted her rifle, waving it in the direction she wanted the man to go. The General had been wounded in the fighting, a rogue bolt grazed his ample gut. He was dramatizing the entire thing in her opinion. Apart from a slightly elevated heartbeat, the General's vitals all looked fine.

"You should have known this would happen. People like us do not simply defect." The yet unnamed man was a war analyst and strategist. There was absolutely no way that the Empire would let him walk away, and judging by his despondent expression, he knew as much.

"So, not going to kill me? It'll be torture then, or at best, a lifetime of imprisonment," the man complained.

"Was is really worth it?" Zolah wasn't being sarcastic this time. The Chiss truly wanted to know. After all she had been through on behalf of the Empire, only to be betrayed in the end. Sometimes, she felt her loyalties waver.

The man gave a humorless laugh and stumbled. "If you knew what I knew, what both sides planned to do," he responded through gritted teeth. "They will destroy our galaxy."

"That very well may be," Zolah responded. "But we all have a part to play."

"Ah, there you are," the female bounty hunter said. "This the guy?" Zolah nodded, shouldering her rifle now that the hunters had arrived. The woman didn't speak again, simply lifted her arm and shot a stream of quick cryo over the General, encasing him completely in a cheap form of carbonite. It would last long enough to get him back aboard their own ship.

The male appeared next, pushing a hover sled. "So nice of the Pubs to leave these lying around." Together, the three loaded their quarry onto the sled and started back towards the shuttle.

"Well, another job wrapped up," the man said. "I was a pleasure doing business with you, Cipher."

 **Jedi Shadow  
** **(Act 3)**

Notiac Carlo entered the bridge just as the captain of the vessel sputtered out an excuse about why he offered money to the soldiers to leave Senator Ashara behind. "Oh come on, it was one life verses hundreds," he explained. "How can you possibly hold that against me? Especially after that stunt you tried to pull in engineering?"

The Twi'lek crossed her arms. "As it happens, I don't. But I don't appreciate being sold out either." Ashara took note of the Jedi's entrance and stepped into a more official pose. "We can finish this later. Master Jedi, are the levels clear?"

Notiac nodded. "The Imperials have fled back to their ship, and I no longer feel the Sith's presence." It had been a confusing battle. While both had tried to disarm the other, Notiac never got the impression that the Sith was attempting to kill her. She dragged the battle out, dancing away from the Jedi's blade. Then, she was gone.

Pushing the thoughts away for the time being, Notiac focused on the excitement humming through the bridge. "What are our damages?"

"Looks like the hull took a pounding," the Cathar soldier called from where he looked over the shoulder of one of the techs. While his signature looked nothing like the one she'd just battled, Notiac couldn't discount the irony of running across two Cathar in this fight. "And shields are at twenty-three percent. If I may, sir, we should take this lull as an opportunity to escape."

"Agreed," Notiac responded. "Captain, set course for Coruscant. There is much about this that troubles me."

The crew of the Esseless did as ordered and the gathered leaders began to drift apart. Senator Ashara collected her protocol droid and set out, presumably to her rooms. The two Havoc soldiers also exited the bridge. Notiac watched them through the Force, intrigued by the impression they left in it. The woman was a torrent of emotion beneath a carefully crafted shell of calm. Notiac saw a writhing sea of black, punctuated by stabs of bright color that surfaced before being shoved down again. The Cathar was in every way her opposite. He appeared as a solid mass of blue, cold and calculated, but with a core that burned brightly. Both so different, yet there was also a similarity to them. A connection.

"Master?"

Notiac pulled her attention from the soldiers to focus on another oddity. Kaeto Vaa shone with a bright, golden light. She was touched directly by the Force, purposefully guided, though to what purpose still remained to be seen. Yet, the young Togruta doubted, and that could be her undoing in the end. Placing a hand on the knight's shoulder, Notiac smiled. "Be calm, my friend. There is much yet to be revealed. Go, meditate and rest."

There was the vaguest shift in the larger woman's posture to indicate a bow before she pulled out of Notiac's grasp. Being alone on the bridge with just the crew and captain, Notiac inhaled deeply to calm her own fears. She would need to report this strange occurrence to the council. There was little doubt in her mind that the Sith was a diversion. The Mandalorians were the key, though Notiac was still unsure as to how. Many had died, and it would take hours to discover whether or not anyone had been targeted. She feared the consequences of this feint, and wondered what it would unleash upon the galaxy later.

 **Sith Warrior  
** **(Act 3)**

Darth Kozen dismissed the agent and paid the bounty hunters. All parties had played their part beautifully. The Republic fleet had fled as soon as their precious senator was back aboard after convincing themselves that they'd sabotaged the Black Talon. Kozen was not overly concerned about the damage. Maintenance crews would have them bound for Dromund Kaas in a few hours. Hours that Kozen did not intend to waste.

"Greetings, _General_."

The man was thicker now, and he took up the entirety of the chair he'd been secured to. "I am going to ask you a few questions, and it would please me greatly if you would answer them without too much fuss."

The General lifted his blackened eyes to glare into the face of the Sith Pureblood. "I have nothing to say to you. Take me back to your masters, I'll not speak again."

"It is, of course, your prerogative which way this interrogation goes," Darth Kozen remarked. "All I am interested in is your Republic contact. I don't suppose you planned to simply walk into the Senate Tower and ask to speak to the Supreme Chancellor herself. Someone helped you."

"I changed my face, there was no one," the man replied with a stubborn set to his jowls.

Kozen stepped aside, fading into the shadows as Solish Rasik glided forward. The woman had been driven mad long ago by the ghosts who dwelled in her mind. But the one thing that gave her solace, was electricity. She'd become quite adept at altering the way it flowed through her body and out her fingertips. The jolt she provided could be as gentle as a tickle, or as powerful as a lightning strike.

The Force coalesced in the palm of the Cathar's hand in the form of purple sparks. The General watched her approach, licking his lips nervously. "Last chance," Kozen repeated. He leaned against the wall, using the tip of a knife to clean beneath his fingernails. "Who was your contact?"

"I-"

Kozen sighed. "Lord Solish?"

White fangs glimmered in a feral grin as the Cathar thrust her hand towards the General's chest, unleashing a torrent of violet pain. Darth Kozen checked his nails while the man screamed, decided they were satisfactory, then started on the other hand.


	2. Club Vertica (Havoc Squad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know if you guys wanted this story or not, but here it is. The scene from Club Vertica that didn't make it into Family is more than Blood. It has champagne, fancy dresses, and an incredibly uncomfortable Aric Jorgan.

**Club Vertica**  
**Havoc Squad**  
**Act 2 - Nar Shaddaa**

If Nar Shaddaa had a classy place, Club Vertica would be it. The lavish, crimson rugs and wall hangings were probably worth more than Fynta's pension. Every twenty meters sported a large guard to keep bandits and other savories outside. No violent attacks in here, only under the table swindling allowed. The main floor held every type of game one could wish to lose money on, and given that the casino was run by the Hutts, she was sure a lot of money was lost.

Fynta smoothed down the front of her figure hugging red gown. Generally speaking, she preferred something a little more . . . durable. However, a full suit of beskar would be a bit too obvious. Weapons had been an issue too, but she'd solved the dilemma with a knife strapped to her thigh just above the knee height slit in her skirt, and a pen-blaster tucked into her cleavage.

Dorne went a more respectable route with a high necked light blue gown. It covered Havoc's new medic completely, but hugged her figure no less. The cascading material allowed the woman to secure a hold-out blaster against her ribs. Fynta had little doubt that was all Dorne was hiding. Jorgan had been the lucky one. A Cathar would be recognizable in a place like this, so he remained fully armed with helmet secured.

Fynta smiled as the three began ascending the spiral staircase leading to the elevator. Jorgan's reaction when the two women knocked on his hotel room door had been worth the expenses of the dresses. The Cathar had gaped at them, then demanded to know why such measures were necessary if they were posing as mercenaries to keep the Republic's name out of this op. Fynta had explained that mercenaries would absolutely not be allowed into the party, however, two heiresses. . . . The major spared him a glance. Even now, Jorgan walked with the stiff gate of a man who was extremely uncomfortable with his surroundings.

Stopping at the elevator, Fynta swiped the keycard that Balkar's slicer had managed to procure for them. "If I may, Lieutenant," Dorne ventured as they waited for the exclusive lift to arrive. "I would not presume to tell you how to do your job, however, a polite approach might produce a nonviolent attitude." When Fynta remained silent, she added, "The Empire is built upon knowing one's place, and the structure that comes from observing manners."

Fynta nodded in agreement, deciding to let Dorne take point. "It's your show, Elara. I'll follow your lead." Especially since Mandalorian society was built on who hit the hardest. Polite wasn't generally her go-to.

When the doors dinged open, it revealed a small room that was already occupied by a voluptuous woman in a low cut pink dress. Fynta snatched two glasses of champagne from a passing service droid and gave Dorne a shove into the elevator. Then, she put on her best Imperial accent. "Can you believe the nerve of that man, Elara?" She passed the sergeant a glass and hoped she caught on.

Elara accepted it graciously and scowled. "Some people reach too high." Jorgan shifted in behind the two women and stood silently, as was proper for a bodyguard. He'd been displeased with Fynta's plan, claiming they were soldiers, not SIS. Balkar had wanted this done as quietly as possible to avoid inciting a minor war on neutral ground. So, this was the best she could do in twenty-four hours.

"Being accosted by the local riffraff, are we?" The woman in the pink dress slurred. She had a good ten years on Fynta, and they hadn't been kind.

"Honestly, I don't know why father made us tag along." Fynta sighed dramatically, playing the part of a spoiled brat was easier that she'd thought, though the snort Jorgan managed over the comms didn't help. "At least he provided us with a proper escort this time." She smacked Jorgan's chestplate in retaliation, causing him to grunt.

The woman scanned the bulky armor, lingering on certain areas longer than others. "He is a fine specimen. Is he for sale?" Fynta had plenty of experience with Imperial nobility, but this woman's candor surprised even her. Dorne's face could have been carved from stone for all the emotion she showed, although she did take a longer sip of her drink than was strictly necessary.

Given their almost playful interaction mere moments ago, Fynta knew she'd have to apologize for this later. She stepped closer to Jorgan, pressing into his side. "Absolutely not," the major answered, rubbing her hand possessively over his chest. "He has certain . . . gifts, which I couldn't bear to part with." Fynta could sense the Cathar tensing, and this time, it wasn't funny. Off the clock teasing was one thing, but springing a situation like this, on a guy like Jorgan, was simply unsporting. However, sending him off with this woman would be a fate worse than death, so her refusal had to be convincing.

The elevator door opened, and the woman frowned at Fynta. "Well, if you're sure." She eyed Jorgan again, then grinned. "I can't say that I blame you." Whipping stringy black hair over her shoulder, the woman stepped off the elevator, and Jorgan let out a ragged breath.

"I am _so_ sorry," Fynta began, stepping away from him quickly. "I'll buy you a drink after this is finished to make up for that."

The Cathar nodded. "All a part of the mission." He sounded much calmer than she expected, and worried that she might have put him into shock.

When the doors opened again, the two women sauntered down the hall towards the double doors at the end. They were propped open, and Fynta could see the people milling around inside. The officers wore Imperial garb, of course, but their families were in fancy dress, so the new arrivals only attracted minimal interest. "Come on, Dorne, let's go have a chat with the guy wearing the major's stripes," Fynta commented, nodding towards a man standing next to a large holopad. Dorne fell into step, with Jorgan following a respectful distance behind.

"Good evening, sir," Elara crooned as they approached, her posh upbringing showing through. Fynta would have mangled that introduction had she attempted. Fynta's talents leaned more towards the sensual, whereas Dorne simply came across as curious.

The major greeted them with a smile. "Ah, ladies, good evening. I am Major Zandres, how may I be of service?"

Fynta had always marveled at how polite Imperials could be. Had this been a Republic senator, he probably would have smacked her ass and offered her a ride home. Granted, Zandres might get around to that after he dispensed with the pleasantries. "Are we to assume you are our gracious host?" Elara went on, crossing one arm over her stomach, while she twirled the stem of her glass between the fingers of the other hand. Fynta sipped at her champagne silently, letting Dorne carry the conversation.

"I'm afraid I cannot assume that honor, I am simply here on business," Zandres answered. He was the highest ranking officer in the room, so Fynta pegged him as their target, catching Elara's eye and nodding briefly.

"How intriguing, what sort of business?" Fynta asked, her accent was a little rusty, but passable. It was clear that she wasn't nobility, but Zandres chose not to comment.

The major offered them both a paternal smile. "Nothing that would interest a couple of refined ladies such as yourselves. Please, enjoy the party, I must return to my duties."

Havoc did just that. Fynta had two more glasses of champagne while Elara pointed out families of note. They'd snacked on hors d'oeuvre, and even managed a takeout bag for Jorgan since the poor guy wasn't able to graze. "Bring me some back too," Balkar whispered through Fynta's earpiece. She ignored him, but stashed a little extra anyway. Jorgan grumbled at the SIS agent to stay off the line, and Fynta just barely resisted rolling her eyes.

People finally began filtering out, some staggering a bit, around 0100. Eventually, all that remained was Havoc, Zandres, and his guards. Eventually, the major looked up from his work, brows pulling together as he took in the nearly empty room. "Begging your pardon, ladies, but it's quite late."

Fynta had enjoyed the party. Havoc had managed to relay a fair amount of menial data back to Balkar just by listening in on nearby conversations as well, but it was time to wrap things up. "You people are always so polite, it's almost a shame that I've got to follow through on this contract, but. . . ." Fynta drawled, dropping the accent. She crossed the room, draining her glass in the process, and set it on the holotable. "It's time to go."

The major's eyes narrowed. "Contract?" Then the moment of comprehension, and Fynta's smile grew. "Bounty hunters," the man spat. "Guards!" Zandres stepped back and pulled his blaster.

Fynta reacted without thinking and smashed the palm of her hand into Zandres's nose. In the same movement, she grabbed his blaster and flipped it over to aim back at him. Dorne had her hold-out blaster in hand as well, and Jorgan held his rifle on the guards. The fools had let keep all of his gear. After all, what good was a bodyguard without kit? He hadn't been the only openly armed person in the room either.

Zandres stumbled back, both hands covering his now bloodied nose. "Call off your guards," Fynta warned. "The contract doesn't specify dead or alive."

A low chuckle resonated over the comm. "You are scary sexy, you know that?" Balkar was clearly enjoying himself. "Time to haul in the prize, Lieutenant. Bring the dress."


	3. Legate (Imperial Agent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolah Holran likes things nice and tidy. All loose ends wrapped up by the end of a mission. So, when control is ripped away from her by the Castellan restraints, no one can blame her for getting a little bent out of shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've discovered that the agent story is my next obsession apart from Havoc Squad. So, Zolah will be making more appearances in Family is More Than Blood. As usual, I've taken creative liberties to suit my own headcanon form of the story, but the basics are all still there. So, here's a peak into my agent's mind as she deals with all that SIS nonsense.

**Imperial Agent**  
**Act II**  
**Departing Taris**

It became abundantly clear that sleep would continue to elude Zolah when the chrono chirped at 0500. So, she removed herself from the bed, being careful not to disturb the man still lying there. As she pulled on a robe, the Chiss regarded Vector. His compassion had been all encompassing, surrounding the overwhelmed cipher agent. While she lay next to him, there had been a measure of security that Zolah had thought herself beyond feeling, and the memory of it would no doubt haunt her for some time to come.

Vector had requested permission to speak to Zolah on a personal matter, which she had granted simply because she found him fascinating. The man's mind worked like none other she had seen, being in constant contact with those he'd left on Alderaan. Zolah wondered briefly if he would understand her predicament, even if only slightly. Instead of learning something about the Killik joiner, however, he'd shown the Chiss her own vulnerability.

Vector claimed that something appeared off with her song, or aura, or whatever it was he saw with those fathomless, black eyes. In her mind, Zolah had wept with joy that someone had noticed her odd behavior, but when she tried to convey that sentiment, words betrayed her. She'd told him it was fatigue, nothing more. He hadn't looked convinced, responding simply that should there be anything he could do, his services were at her command. Before she'd realized it, Zolah's hands were tangled in the front of his gaudy robes.

Zolah Holran considered herself a loyal agent of the Empire. However, everyone reached a point in their career when they became disenchanted with their employer. The problem being that her employers happened to be a council of unstable psychopaths who wielded unnatural power. She respected the Sith, but she kept a wary eye on them as well. Placing constraints on an intelligence agent's mind wouldn't register as a blip on the moral compass of individuals who spent their days plotting their rival's demise. If only she'd known, instead of finding out the first time Arden Kothe used her keyword to force her to obey.

The Chiss sighed. Perhaps what had happened between them hadn't been what Vector meant, but it felt good to be in control of her actions for a change. Opening the door just enough to squeeze through, Zolah retreated from the emotion that felt suspiciously like guilt. She'd used Vector for her own purposes, just as she was being used. While manipulation was a key part of her job, the Chiss chastised herself for turning that on one of her crew, especially a man who clearly only wanted what was best for her. Sleeping with Vector had been a mistake, one she couldn't afford to repeat. He deserved more.

Noise from the medbay brought Zolah out of her self-flagellation. Padding forward on silent feet, she peeked into the medbay to find Doctor Lokin crouched on the other side of the bed cleaning up vials. "Couldn't sleep, agent?" The man asked without looking up. He'd never struck her as particularly observant, yet he missed nothing.

Zolah tipped her head slightly. Lokin was another unusual individual. When she'd first met the old man, he appeared grandfatherly and serene. Then, he'd transformed into one of those monsters that infested Taris and torn into their enemies with his teeth. Afterward, the former agent had requested asylum aboard her ship, claimed that his work with the rakghouls was clearly compromised. Zolah could hardly resist such an ally.

It struck the Chiss then, she was essentially building a collection of oddities. The thought that Kaliyo might be the most normal member of Zolah's crew nearly drew a chuckle from the agent. Kaliyo had been fine with Vector joining, claiming that at least he was easy on the eyes even if he was part bug. However, the anarchist had raised an eyebrow at scientist and stated that she was fine with his presence so long as he stayed on his side of the ship. She also claimed no fault if he ended up dead for violating her space.

Having not received a reply, Lokin stood with his bounty and gave Zolah a scrutinizing look. Under any other circumstances, she would deflect his attention. However, if anyone could find a way to release the bars around her mind, she was sure it was this man. Zolah inclined her head, annoyed with her lack of ability to communicate with her crew outside of pleasantries. "Sleep is difficult to come by these days."

The man nodded thoughtfully, "Ah yes, the life of a double agent." Then, he set to the task of separating the broken shards from the salvageable vials. "It doesn't get any better with age," the man continued. "Especially when your dreams are encompassed by—well . . . another life."

 _You understand that, don't you?_ Zolah physically recoiled from the voice, stumbling out of the room. Her pulse pounded in her temples, yet Lokin prattled on as if he'd heard nothing. _They've chained your mind, forcing you to act against your will, essentially, creating a parallel you_. The monotone cadence sent a stab of fear through the agent. This was impossible.

If Lokin noticed her odd behavior, Zolah couldn't tell. She staggered through the center room, intent on reaching her quarters. Pressure built in the back of her mind, pushing against consciousness. Zolah's knees gave out just as she reached the holoterminal. The Red Blade, the real one, lay dead in front of her, his expressionless bone mask dripping with blood. Baroness Cortess sat cross-legged to Zolah's right, her throat gaping and raw, her mouth set in a nasty sneer.

The Chiss agent found herself surrounded by the dead; people she had killed by her own hands. The classmate Zolah had been ordered to dispatch when she was twelve. The Zabrak she'd stolen the holo-disguiser from—Zolah's mouth and nose filled with ash, choking her as the faceless forms of the thousands she'd murdered with the Eradicators dissolved before her eyes. Then, the pompous, fat man from on Nar Shaddaa stumbled through the fog to slump in front of her. _Getting closer_ , the voice whispered.

Zolah spun to find Watcher X standing over her, his emotionless eyes no more expressive than the dead surrounding her. "Yes," he responded, striding forward.

"You're dead," Zolah choked out, scrambling away from the disgraced agent. She'd killed him too, back on Nar Shaddaa. Kaliyo had borne witness and confirmed. Yet, here he stood, unburned and whole. "You're dead," the Chiss repeated firmly. She scrambled to her feet, trying to reach one of the holdout blasters she had stashed around the ship.

Searing pain radiated through Zolah's back, shooting into her arms as she fell to the ground again. Watcher X squatted beside her, a blaster in his hand. "I am," he answered with such conviction that Zolah wanted to laugh. "You killed me. Yet, I implanted something, a fragment of myself, into your spine during your surgery." The man reached out and tapped her temple, feeling horribly solid. "I am now here."

Zolah swore. The whole purpose of having that blasted holoprojector implanted without anesthetic was to ensure he didn't add any extras. Perhaps this was simply a hallucination from the strain the Castellan restraints had put on her mind. Maybe she was closer to snapping than she realized. "You are not insane, agent." Watcher X paused. "Well, no more than I was." Somehow, Zolah didn't find that reassuring. "Your masters have caged your mind, and a traitor gave the enemy the key. Would you like to take it back?"

All panic halted abruptly as Zolah considered the offer Watcher X dangled before her. Perhaps she should hear the dead agent out, then decide. In the back of the Chiss's mind, a voice warned that acceptance of a hallucination was the first step towards insanity.

"Agent . . . agent." Zolah became aware of warms hands cradling her face. "Zolah," the voice said more forcefully. "Open your eyes."

Zolah obeyed, her vision encompassed by familiar, all-black eyes. Vector's face relaxed, his forehead smoothing as he sighed with relief. "We feared you'd injured yourself." He helped her sit up, revealing Lokin and Kaliyo standing at his back.

Doctor Lokin grabbed Zolah's elbow, helping her stand. The two men didn't let go until they were sure she was steady. Kaliyo crossed her arms and tipped her head in amusement. "Party a little too hard, agent?" She smirked. The Rattataki's eyes flicked to Vector, who still stood with one hand partially extended in Zolah's direction. He wore simple sleep pants and no shirt and had clearly come from her quarters. Zolah groaned inwardly. Not that she was shy about her sexual exploits, but that Kaliyo was sure to harangue her about this for the foreseeable future.

"Are you well, agent?" Lokin asked. He made no move to touch her, though stepped pointedly to the side to reveal a prepped medbay.

 _I'm looking for revenge_ , Zolah growled inwardly. Unable to say such a thing, a familiar lie slipped from her tongue. "Fatigue." Then, an idea struck her. "Kaliyo, set a course for Dromund Kaas." Zolah chose her words with care, ensuring that her intention came across clearly. "I've received new intel, there is something in the archives that we need."

Watcher X, be he ghost or mere figment of her imagination, had given Zolah the first clue in breaking the hold that both SIS and Empire held over her mind. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. She would break her chains. She would be free again.


	4. First Impressions (Sith Inquisitor/Andronikos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun little blip to introduce my Sith Sorc. She'll be appearing in the upcoming chapters of Family is More Than Blood soon. However, when I considered how best to introduce her, I kept coming back to Andronikos. Who wouldn't want to explore the mind of this foul mouthed pirate? So, I decided to go with his initial thoughts on the Sith.

**Tatooine**  
**Sith Inquisitor  
** **Act I**

Andronikos Revel considered the Sith standing in front of him as she held out the datapad, claiming it was from his old girlfriend Casey. The Sith was petite to the extreme, barely coming to his shoulder. Andronikos was a fit man, but he'd never been considered tall. She was skinny too, barely appearing more than a waif under her desert attire. The only thing that truly made the woman stand out as a Sith was the golden, feline mask that she wore under her hood.

The creature next to the Sith woman growled, probably some form of speech. It was a massive that stood two full heads taller and sported thickly corded arms. Andronikos didn't like the way it pointed to him before crossing those arms, either. "I need this man to find the artifact." The woman's voice poured from behind her mask with a smoothness that Andronikos hadn't expected. There was little feedback from the filters, meaning he could hear her actual tenor, instead of a droid like echo. That was high quality tech. "You know you'll always be my favorite slave," she purred. Andronikos was sure it was real, too. An honest to Force, throat rumbling, _purr_. The creature threw his hands up—Andronikos was almost positive it was a he—and stormed off.

The two watched in silence, until Andronikos decided he was ready to get moving. If this woman had a line on Wilkes, he didn't plan on waiting around for the trail to go cold. "So, you any good with that, Sith?" The pirate nodded to the vibrosword on her back. He didn't know a lot about Sith, but rumor had it they carried lightsabers, and that sword looked mighty big on her tiny frame.

The feline mask turned towards Andronikos. "Would you like to find out?"

The pirate raised his hands in defense. "I meant no offense, just curious." There, with pleasantries out of the way, they could proceed. "Come on, I'm ready to put a few blaster bolts into that bastard Wilkes."

It took four damnable hours on bantha to reach the coordinates that Casey encrypted on that datapad. There were worse ways to spend the time, granted. Sitting in the saddle behind the Sith had given Andronikos ample time to, _get to know_ a little more about her. Not that conversation had been great, but a guy like him didn't need words to get a bead on a woman. For example, resting his hands on the Sith's waist gave him a feel of her body. She was tight skin over lean muscle that flexed under his fingertips. He watched the way she observed her surroundings, seemingly drawn to movement or sudden sounds.

Andronikos had originally assumed the Sith, who had yet to reveal her name, was human. Now, he wasn't so sure. The way she fought went beyond simple Force tricks, at least, he thought it did. She danced between the Sand Raiders, swinging her vibrosword two-handed unless she needed the other to shoot lightning. Now _that_ had been an impressive sight. He wondered if all Sith could zap people, then started considering possible ranges and how fast he'd have to run to escape it. Andronikos didn't like his odds.

"We're here," the still unidentified Sith said, grasping his hands between her thumb and forefingers as if their presence around her waist disgusted her. Well, she hadn't complained a few hours ago.

Andronikos pulled away from the woman and slipped off the bantha, deciding against offering her a hand down. If the she didn't want him to touch her, that was fine by him. It gave him a chance to take in their surroundings. "Hiding underground. Damn, wish I'd thought of that." The woman prowled into the compound, there really wasn't another word for the way she walked, without a word. While Andronikos generally preferred a more voluptuous figure on his eye candy, he wasn't going to deny himself the pleasure of watching her ass as he followed her further underground.

When the Sith's vibrosword hummed to life, Andronikos brought his attention back to the task at hand. She went on point like a predator sniffing out her prey, and the pirate decided his life may depend on him staying well clear of her blast radius until the bodies stopped dropping. He fired from cover with sub-standard blasters, whittling down the targets to Wilkes himself.

The man had turned into a raving lunatic since the last time Andronikos had seen him. _And I thought all that time in that escape pod had nearly driven_ me _mad._ Wilkes was far worse. He raved about proving himself in the mutiny that put Andronikos in that kriffing pod; that he wasn't just some dumb grunt. As if using a freaky Sith artifact to warp the weak minds of his crew was supposed to be some kind of impressive feat. Now, surviving in the depths of space with a few ration bars and two canteens for ten days. _That_ was worth bragging about.

"For Andronikos Revel to come so far, and fail so hard," Wilkes laughed. Andronikos wasn't sure whether to shoot the man out of revenge or pity. "You even brought a Sith, a cute little kitten, and _still_ couldn't get the job done!" _Revenge_ , Andronikos decided. _Definitely revenge._

"I am not _cute_ ," the Sith stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy. "I. Am. Deadly." She thrust both arms forward, electricity arcing from her fingertips to Wilkes' body.

The man screamed, dropping to his knees. Still, he clung to his insane laughter. "Heh, going to let her have all the fun, eh, Nikky?"

Andronikos hated that name. Anger coursed through his veins, and red fringed the pirate's vision. "I'm going to rip out your throat and laugh while you try to scream." He bit off each word of the threat, fully planning to make it a reality, taking aim with both blasters.

"The artifact, damn you," the Sith grumbled, sending another stream of purple electricity into the man. He collapsed forward on hands and knees, blood dripping from his lips. A couple more strikes, and Wilkes finally spilled his guts. The artifact, and Andronikos' blasters, had been stolen by thieves days ago.

The Sith hissed in anger and backhanded Wilkes with enough force to topple him onto his back. Her feline mask turned towards Andronikos. "All of this chatter is making me bloodthirsty. Either you kill him, or I will."

There was no way in any hell that Andronikos was going to let this score go to anyone else. He stood over the rasping body of the man who'd stolen everything from him; his crew, his ship, even his kriffing blasters, leaving him to rot in some Imperial prison for months. "Guess you're not so big after all." Wilkes opened his mouth, still pulled into a smug grin, but Andronikos cut him off with a sharp crack of his blaster. The first bolt took the man's ear off before he managed a headshot. "Damn, sight's still off." The pirate shrugged and joined the Sith outside.

It took another two hours to track down the thieves. They'd left behind a handy trail of datapads that wove a tale about partners going insane, and Sand People attacks. Once again, Andronikos had been impressed by the Sith woman. She gave the illusion of calling lightning down from the sky in a radius that was anything but cute. It _had_ to be an illusion though, no one was _that_ powerful.

Finally, they tracked down the only bastard left. Of course, he was already dead. "Damned idiotic nerf-herding sons of Hutts!" Andronikos raved, pacing back and forth in his fury at the loss of his quarry. True, all the items they needed were there, but he'd been denied his kill, and that made the pirate's blood boil. He opened his mouth to spew another string of obscenities when the Sith casually flicked her wrist.

Andronikos' world turned violet, and every cell in his body burned at once. It took two agonizing seconds to realize that the scream he heard sounded disturbingly like his own. "Snap out of it," the woman spat. Just as suddenly, everything returned to normal, and the pirate checked to make sure he wasn't smoking.

Revel took a gasping breath and shook his head. "Next time, just slap me in the face, okay? Damn crazy Sith." Her mask turned slowly towards him, and Andronikos prepared himself for a disciplinary electrocution.

"Just get your blasters from the corpse, and let's go," she half growled. _Definitely not human._ That growl was way too authentic.

Andronikos bent to gather the weapons he'd been hunting for since the mutiny, examining them to ensure the bastards hadn't damaged what was left of the product. Standing again, he slammed them into his twin holsters, and sighed happily at the familiar weight. Andronikos dropped the lousy blasters he'd been forced to make due with on the thief's body.

Next, the pirate regarded the Sith where she squatted, studying the artifact. An eerie light radiated from her hands, encompassing the slab, before she nodded and slipped it into her satchel. He wondered what, if anything, that glowing light actually did to the thing. Maybe she had a way of neutralizing the artifact's ability to turn people into mutinous scum. That seemed like a handy trick for a Sith to have.

"Are you ready?" The woman asked with a hint of annoyance. Andronikos decided he liked her despite her curt tone and lack of etiquette, hell, maybe even because of it. She fought thorough and dirty. He'd never admit to it out loud, but this little Sith had all the makings of a proper pirate. An idea sprang to the forefront of Andronikos' mind, and he went with it before logic could make him see reason.

"Sure," the man commented. The tone of his voice lightened, and the Sith turned her mask curiously at him. It killed Andronikos not knowing what she looked like, and each imagining had become more outlandish than the last. "There's just one thing I want to ask—you got room for an extra on your ship?" The woman's shoulders tensed, and Andronikos hastened to get his resume on the table, so to speak. "I'm a damn good pilot, and I've got contacts a Sith wouldn't even think of. It'll be your show, no questions asked." After all, he needed a way off Tatooine. Not to mention, a new crew. This woman could be exactly what he'd been looking for.

The Sith stood, her mask tilting to the side to consider him. Andronikos did his best to maintain eye contact, knowing that if he showed any weakness now, he'd be fried bantha dwang. Slowly, her gloved hand rested on the bridge of the feline nose and the mask pulled away with a slight hiss. Andronikos froze, mind grinding to a halt momentarily as he stared into the golden eyes of a kriffing Cathar. Her fur was the blackest he'd ever seen, with subtle stripes across both cheeks and chin.

The pirate swallowed, searching for something to say that wouldn't get him shocked or mauled. In the end, the only thing that came to mind was, "Well, that explains the mask."

The Sith chuckled lightly, exposing two white fangs when she smiled. "Very well," she purred. There was that kriffing purr again. "Khem's fingers are too large to operate the hyperspace controls anyway. He always puts the wrong coordinates in." Replacing her mask, the Sith adjusted her satchel, hand resting over the artifact inside.

Andronikos smirked. "I get the feeling we're going to make a damn good team, you and me." The pirate pulled back the flap of the tent to display their shaggy mount waiting outside. "Now, let's get the hell off this rock, huh?" He still had no idea what to call this woman, so he supposed _Sith_ would work until he figured it out. If anything, his future was guaranteed to be an adventurous one. What more could a pirate ask for?


	5. Complete Me (Imperial Agent/Vector)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolah has deep seated commitment issues, but somehow, Vector pushes through them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You told me this is right where it begins.  
> But your lips hang heavy underneath me.  
> And I promised myself I wouldn't let you complete me.  
> I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go. - Is There Somewhere by Halsey
> 
> These lyrics inspired this little drabble. I just couldn't get them out of my head.

**Imperial Agent  
** **After Act III**

Vector stood ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back, and a barely contained quiver in his voice. "That you would have the gall to speak to _our_ wife in such a manner, after everything we did to solve _your_ problem is clear indication of your lack of breeding." Vector's outrage surprised Zolah as much as the man on the holo.

Zolah kept a transmission filtering program running at all times and had picked up a distress call four days before this conversation. She and Vector had been close to the coordinates, and he insisted it was only proper to aid a fellow Imperial. As it happened, it was a ploy by some up-jumped Moff, the nephew of a highly ranked military leader or something. The man had trouble with a local gang, not even a well organized or trained group of men, simple, everyday thugs.

Things had gone downhill quickly when Zolah told the Moff where to shove his distress signal, suggesting that he grow a pair instead. She'd let her guard down, a stupid thing to do, and before the agent knew what was happening, she and Vector both had been fitted with slave collars. The joiner had been reduced to a shivering heap on the floor, but not before landing a solid punch for the insult. While Vector was not a violent man, his Killik biology afforded him strength and speed beyond that of a normal human male.

They'd been forced to dismantle the rebels or risk severe electrical burns as penance. When the job was complete, the boy decided to keep them for his own personal enforcers. To expedite the escape plan, Zolah had fallen on a foolproof bargaining tactic. Seduction.

As far as marks went, the Moff had been one of the most revolting. Zolah remained true to her word, she hadn't killed him, which she thought was being overly generous. Slipping the collar's controller had been simple, and she made sure the Moff woke to the same jolt that he'd inflicted on her so often. She'd waited until he wet himself before flipping it off. That incident was the reason for his call. The Moff threatened to shoot down their ship unless they returned. Vector had finally had enough. While watching him in a fight was breathtaking, hearing the man navigate through a passively hostile negotiation was sheer beauty.

"Furthermore, we shall be in contact with your uncle upon arrival to Dromund Kaas to inform him of your poor attitude towards the Empire's free agents. I'm sure you'll be hearing from him soon. Good day, sir." Vector leaned over the controls and slammed his palm on the disconnect.

Zolah watched the joiner carefully, wondering at his outburst. Vector put his hands on his hips and shook his head at the floor. "Forgive us, love," the man sighed. "We could not stand by and listen to his vulgar speech any longer."

The Moff had launched into a tirade when he'd finally gotten the collar off. Zolah certainly hadn't left the key for him, and those were programmed to shock the wearer if tampered with. When Vector refused to turn the ship around, the man proceeded to taunt the joiner with lurid descriptions of his time with Zolah. Vector had lost patience when the man asked how her bruises were mending.

"No need," Zolah responded softly, though she remained where she stood. "I should have killed the man."

A slight smile pulled at Vector's lips when he looked at her. "Yes, perhaps this once, it would have been best."

An uncomfortable weight settled in Zolah's chest as she looked into those all black eyes. When she'd first met Vector Hyllus on Alderaan, the man had been an oddity, something that she wanted to understand. His unique position amongst the Killiks, not to mention the peculiar speech pattern and the way he _felt_ the universe, fascinated her. Vector saw everything with a beauty that Zolah had numbed herself to long ago.

Vector had comforted her when no one else could, offering his support during a time where Zolah was forced to speak and act against her will. His strength had given her the ability to use the Castellan Restraints to her benefit. To maintain her sanity while the apparition of a long dead enemy gave her the secret to escape. It had taken months of searching, all coalescing on Quesh. Out of everyone aboard the _Red Blade_ , Zolah had trusted Vector alone to watch over her while the scientist performed the procedure. Knowing that the joiner wouldn't hesitate to kill the man should he try to bring her to harm.

Later, after all the restraints, political goals, and secret laboratories had been dealt with, Vector proposed. While Zolah had assured him that she preferred the joiner to the human, she knew how fickle men could be. Their egos wounded easily, and Zolah couldn't afford to lose such an ally as Vector Hyllus. In her line of work, finding another individual, who she could rely on implicitly, was a rare commodity. So, she accepted. She'd never intended for things to go further. Their marriage was discrete, not secret. There were no laws in the Empire about fraternizing with her crew, but it was more pragmatic to remain officially unattached. Vector had agreed, stating that a simple word from her was more than enough. Once again, she'd used him to further her own goals: cold, calculated, and complete. Just like that boy on Voss.

Now, as Zolah looked at the man, so bent out of shape over the spurning of his wife's honor, the Chiss came to a startling realization. She wanted to comfort Vector, to wrap her arms around his waist, kiss his chin, and assure him that everything would be fine. Yet, her feet were frozen. These new emotions terrified the agent. Attraction on this level could be used as a weapon against her should anyone find out. It was an illogical and unhelpful mental state that could lead to a mistake on a later mission.

The Chiss took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. It was time to send Vector away. She should have done it four years ago when he joined her crew, but she'd been selfish, keeping him to herself. Zolah opened her mouth to suggest that Vector return to Dromund Kaas. She could send him on an errand of some sort, something official enough to require his expertise. Then, she would leave port. A clean break. Zolah discarded that idea immediately, knowing that it would cause the joiner unending distress. The fact that it made her chest ache was a bad sign.

"Beloved?"

Zolah had been so consumed by her own thoughts, that she hadn't realized when Vector's full attention fell on her. A look of concern settled on his elegant features, no doubt reading her intentions, or some variation thereof through whatever his heightened senses allowed him to see. He took a step closer, hand half lifted as if to reach out to her, then stopped. "Are you well?"

"We need to have a talk, Vector." Zolah knew this would be difficult, that she may never forgive herself.

The joiner nodded, his face set in grim determination. "Certainly, perhaps somewhere more comfortable?" Vector held his hand out towards the room they shared.

Zolah thought that it couldn't possibly make things any worse. She tipped her head and allowed him to escort her to their quarters. Meanwhile, Zolah rehearsed what she would say. _We have grown too close, Vector. I care too deeply, and that puts us both at risk. I could not say with certainty that I wouldn't jeopardize a mission to ensure your safety, and I worry that you would do the same._ It felt cold, pragmatic. Everything Zolah strived to represent in her work.

No doubt Vector would nod in silent agreement, all the while mulling over her words. Zolah's throat tightened at the thought of him packing his bag and leaving her company with no more than a gentle kiss to remember him by.

They were the only two on the ship, no need for the privacy of a closed door. Still, Zolah turned at the sound of the gentle swish as the hatch sealed. Vector smiled sadly, and Zolah's resolve wavered. "Say what you must. We will hold nothing against you."

Zolah studied that sharp angles of his face, the crinkles around his eyes as he accepted the inevitable with a reassuring smile. When she tried to speak, the words stuck in her throat, and she simply stared. After it was over, would she want these memories, or would it be easier to forget? Would the countless nights spent discussing strategy after making love mean less if she chose to pretend they hadn't happened? An emptiness settled in the cipher's chest when she considered future missions without his musical voice in her ear. She followed his directions when he navigated, trusted his intuition when the plan changed. He was her partner in so many ways beyond general affection. Without Vector, Zolah was an unfeeling tool of the Empire, a less observant agent, and a cynical near-human with no other purpose than to serve deranged masters.

Swallowing through a dry throat, Zolah swore, "Damn it, Vector." She crossed the room, curled her fingers in the collar of his stylish coat, and crushed their mouths together. His hands settled lightly on her waist, his response gentler, but no less passionate. Zolah let them drift apart only a fraction. "I love you," she whispered against his lips.

Though the Chiss kept her eyes closed, she could feel the curve of Vector's mouth as he smiled. "Yes, we believe you do."


	6. Trial by Bounty (Bounty Hunters - Cinlat/Verin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a sort of request/suggestion by a follower on FanFiction who wanted to see how Verin and Cinlat handled a mouthy little brat. As it happens, I had just the mouthy little brat in mind. You'll see more of this feisty Twi'lek later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is the spawn of a writing challenge that I'm taking part in on Tumblr. The goal is to write a little something fun like this each day, while working on a new, bigger story to post at the end of the month. I hope you all enjoy these.  
> Word Count: 922

**D5-Mantis**  
**En route to Dantooine**

"Move, Verin." Cinlat lifted one of her rippers in the direction of their cargo. "Either get out of my way, or I'll put a hole through you, too."

Verin bounced back and forth, keeping himself between his wife and the figure that had earned her wrath. "Riduur-" his attempts at placating Cinlat were met with an ice stare, made all the more intimidating by backlit, white eyes. Verin cleared his throat and tried again. "Cin, you know the kid is worth more alive. Come on, for once we aren't being shot at or blown up. This is an _easy_ job."

"Yet," the huntress huffed, slamming the long barreled blaster back into its holster. Verin sighed with relief, but carefully kept it from his expression lest his wife decide to take up her vendetta again. "Keep her out of my sight, understood?"

As Cinlat spun on her heel to climb the stairs to the Mantis's cockpit, Verin turned to scowl at source of the problem. "You seriously have no survival instinct, kid."

The pink Twi'lek snorted and crossed her arms. She was thirteen years of rebellious mouth, and Verin scolded himself for wondering why her stepfather wanted her back so badly. The instructions had been clear: find his daughter and return her in perfect condition. No carbonation, no shock cuffs. Verin had wondered at the last addition, who in their right mind put shock cuffs on a kid? Now, however, he understood.

The target had hotwired one of the escape pods on her stepdad's merchant ships and landed on Nar Shaddaa. Verin thought back to the capture with a wince and silently thanked his parents for helping him forge such strong beskar'gam. He'd never met a mark who screeched, bit, clawed, and kicked as much as that kid. It was a good thing that the capture went down on Nar Shaddaa instead of a more civilized planets. Otherwise, blood would have been spilled.

Since boarding the Mantis, their target had clogged the 'fresher, smeared grease on the stairs, and finally, what had gotten Cinlat most riled up, hacked into the navisystem. She'd been caught tampering with their destination. No one messed with Cinlat's ship without dire consequences. Not even Verin.

With a sigh, Verin put his hands on his hips. "What's your story, kid?" The Twi'lek was plumper than he'd seen before. She clearly wasn't a runaway slave. The girl showed every sign of pampering and the best education. She reeked of wealth.

"I have daddy issues," the girl responded, cleaning her fingers with one of the small knives that she'd stolen from the mess. Verin snatched it out of her hand. That was the last thing he needed. All Cinlat needed was a motive.

"He beat you or something?" Verin had a contract to fill: two hundred and fifty thousand credits to snag a kid from Nar Shaddaa and drop her on Dantooine. That was only a six hour run; even with expenses, it was mostly profit.

The girl eyed Verin for a moment, and he could see the lie building in her mind before she finally rolled her eyes. "As if. He's overbearing and insufferable. Especially since mom died." At least the price and parameters made sense now. The poor shabuir actually loved this pain in the shebs kid. He probably couldn't bear to lose her too. "He wants me to take over the family business. Which is lame."

Verin raised an eyebrow. "Kid, lame is trying to pass yourself off as a Lethan in a cantina on Nar Shaddaa. Do you have any idea what happens to red-skinned females?" Even with the bruises on her upper arms, he and Cin had done her a favor by hauling her off that moon.

Again, the girl rolled her eyes, such a teenage response. "The plan was to barter passage off world, slit his throat, then steal his ship." Verin gave the girl points for viciousness, at least. "But, you idiots came in and screwed it up."

Verin ran a hand down his face. "Trust me, that's not how it would have happened." He gave up the argument when she affected a dramatic yawn. An idea stuck him, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Cinlat was still upstairs. Turning back to the girl, Verin lowered his voice. "How'd you like for me to teach you how to build a holdout blaster from spare parts?"

The Twi'lek's eyes lit up. Verin held a finger to his lips and nodded towards the back room. They tiptoed under the stairs, the girl casting a rueful glare in Cin's direction. Verin put a hand on her back, directing her towards the right door, then stuck his foot in her path while she was distracted. The Twi'lek toppled forward with a yelp, and Verin activated the forcebarrier.

Wide eyed and furious, the girl clambered to her feet, beating on the transparent wall while Verin leaned against the door with his arms crossed. "See, kid. _That's_ how your little plan would have worked out. Except, we're taking you home, not selling you to some greedy Hutt or Moff. Be grateful."

A torrent of Twi'leki followed Verin from the room, and he was fairly certain a few of those curses hadn't been used in centuries. The bounty hunter smiled when he flopped into the seat next to his wife. Cinlat turned a questioning eyebrow raise on him, and Verin's grin grew. "You know, she actually does look Lethan when she's pissed. Especially in the face."


	7. In Good Standing (Jedi Sage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 791  
> Character: Jedi Sage  
> Notiac Carlo is the epitome of a "Proper Jedi", always cool under pressure and hard to ruffle. But, even she has bad days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being a responsible adult is hard. After a rough day at work and continuous bombardment by bad luck, I wanted to throw a fit like my kids. However, I'm an adult and that's generally unacceptable behavior. Which led to this fun little drabble about staying cool when you'd rather rip everything apart.

_**The Peacekeeper  
** _ **Balmorran Space Station**

Notiac Carlo focused on the light within, taking deep breaths as she let the frustrations of the day slough away like mud under water. Balmorra had been a trying experience, and she was happy to put it behind her. Her contact on the planet, a Twi'lek male who insisted on gunning down anyone who wasn't a Balmorran citizen, made her task of peacekeeping difficult. More than once, the Jedi had been tempted to point out that his single-minded hunt for revenge was no different than the Empire's uncompromising stance on aliens. Taking another deep breath, Notiac pushed it away. Zenith's prejudice no longer mattered. Balmorra was secured for the Republic, her task completed, and now she could decompress.

Something slammed into the wall on the other side of Notiac's room. She ignored it. After all, her ship was filled to bursting with the addition of the delegates from the Rift Alliance, there were bound to be bumps here or there. Luckily, Notiac had impeccable diplomatic skills. She could handle them.

Notiac focused a vision of a sunrise from her homeworld. She didn't see it as her companions might, but she knew of the sun's warmth. The Force moved through all living things, and the ceaseless undulation of radiation shone brightly in her mind's eye. Waves of red arced across the horizon, chased by a halo of yellow and green. The image soothed Notiac's troubled mind, until the wall thumped again.

The Miraluka tipped her head to the side, angling it towards the offending sound. She briefly considered venturing out of the safety of her room to find out what was going on, until she heard Qyzen growl something about the _green, soft thing_. Clearly, the more brutish males in her crew had decided to test their skill against one another. Tharan could patch them up should anyone be injured, and Holiday would notify Notiac if her intervention was required.

Focusing on the Force again, Notiac felt a golden light blaze within. While she meditated, the Jedi considered the sentient program who now lived inside of her ship. It was strange carrying on a conversation with someone she could not _sense_. Holiday did not communicate like a droid, and though Notiac found the girl a bit naive, she was certainly an individual. The artificial intelligence thought and problem solved like a child, always thrilled to find new puzzles to unravel.

"Jedi?" The girl's squeaky voice pierced through Notiac's calm. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Tharan fears that Qyzen and Zenith are disturbing our esteemed guests. What should we do?"

"Have you asked them to stop?" Notiac approached the AI as she would a youngling, offering only enough information to allow Holiday to work the solution out for herself.

The girl clapped her hands. "Such a splendid idea, I'll tell Tharan at once."

Silence followed Holiday's declaration, so Notiac assumed that meant she was alone again. The Jedi had just slipped back into her quiet center when someone knocked on the door. "Jedi?" Tharan's dulcet tones preceded his footsteps. "It's like babysitting a bunch of children. How am I to work on my application for the Lumenatus Club while they are throwing each other around like drunken frat boys?" Notiac heard the distinct tap of an expensive shoe. "I really expected more professionalism on a Jedi's ship."

"I'll handle it after meditation, Tharan," Notiac answered with a weary sigh. "Your complaint has been noted."

"Very good, Jedi." Meditation all but forgotten, tension began bleeding back into Notiac's mind. Surely, the crew could manage a few more moments without her.

 _Once more,_ Notiac assured herself. This time, she began by reciting the Jedi Code. It was how they taught Padawan's to focus their minds before entering a meditative state. A simplistic method that Notiac hadn't needed in a long time. But, it worked, momentarily.

There was no knock this time, only the hiss of her door sliding open. "Jedi, I've had enough. If you can't control your crew-"

Notiac hadn't intended to act, but she'd opened herself up to the force, increasing her strength exponentially. Alauni's demanded had severed Notiac's concentration at the worst possible moment, when the tension had stretched taut before a steady release. She lifted a hand to answer the demanding Twi'lek, but instead of a gentle word, the door wrenched from its hinges and slammed into the far wall.

Alauni shrieked, fleeing from the room with shouted threats of secession from a government she had yet to fully join. Notiac pushed to her feet with a sigh, smoothing her robes, and prepared for an apology. Perhaps later, once they had entered hyperspace and everyone slept, she could finally meditate. She'd need to find a skilled mechanic as well.


	8. Bad Kitty (Havoc Squad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Request by DimiGex. To be honest, I'm not sure how this conversation came about, but someone brought up spritzing kittens with a spray bottle and of course my mind couldn't leave it alone. So, here it is.

**The Thunderclap**

Life was never dull in Havoc Squad. Not even when it was supposed to be. Fynta leaned against the wall behind the chair Balic occupied and watched Jorgan and Vik grapple in the middle of the room. Cormac passed some dried fruit up to Fynta, and she nibbled on it in silence as Jorgan pinned the Weequay to the floor.

Elara huffed at the vicious blows the Cathar delivered, no doubt calculating all the stitches and kolto she'd need to patch both men up when they finished. She cast a rueful glare at Fynta from where she perched on the arm of Balic's chair, and the major shrugged. Fynta had no intention of getting in the middle of that mess, she'd only just healed from their last mission. Aric accented his next punch with a rather colorful oath when Vik dodged and his fist slammed into the floor.

Cormac chuckled and patted his wife's thigh when she muttered under her breath about bones knitting before their next op. Fynta took advantage of Balic's distraction and snagged his bag of fruit. He might have gone after her, had it not been for Vik's cleverly deployed method of unbalancing Jorgan. The Cathar's back hit the floor, and Vik staggered to his feet. He ran his arm across his lip and spat. "That the best you got, Fluffy?"

"Uh oh," Balic smirked, nudging Elara off his lap. "We should probably move out of the way, doll."

Jorgan launched straight from the floor into an attack, taking the Weequay in the gut. They hit the far wall, and Vik jammed his elbow into the back of Aric's shoulder. Both men grunted with the blows, while Fynta silently admired their form. Both men had improved a great deal since joining Havoc.

Having finally grown bored with the display, Elara and Yuun wandered off to do more productive things. Cormac leaned next to Fynta and elbowed her. "So, what's going on exactly?"

"No clue," the major responded around a mouthful of fruit. She narrowed her eyes when Cormac snatched the bag away from her. "I heard the ruckus while I was trying to take a nap and came out to this." She waved a hand at the duo as they rolled across the floor. "I didn't see a point in interrupting."

"Why is Jorgan wet?"

Fynta shrugged again. "Your guess is as good as mine."

They fell silent again when Aric kicked Vik away from him, hard enough to knock the Weequay into the holoterminal. With a sigh, Fynta stepped between the men with hands on hips. "Alright boys, what's it about _this_ time?"

Vik chuckled as he flexed his shoulder. "The Captain and I were reaching an understanding about personal space."

"Keep your part of the barracks in code, or I'll throw all your gear out again," Aric growled.

" _You_ keep your hands off my kit, and we won't have any more issues," Vik shot back, jabbing a fat finger at the snarling Cathar.

Fynta raised an eyebrow at both of them and crossed her arms. She had a fairly clear understanding of what had happened now. Vik left his half of the room a mess, and Jorgan got fed up with it. The Cathar didn't take to disorganization well, so he probably tossed all of the offending garments off the ship at the last stop. Fynta wondered if Vik's porn stash had been amongst the trashed items.

The major sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Vik, you have a footlocker for a reason, use it." Fynta continued when Aric crossed his arms with a smug grin. "Jorgan, next time let me handle the negotiations."

Fynta opened her eyes in time to see Vik smirk at Jorgan's clear offense. Vik produced a water bottle from somewhere and squirted Jorgan square in the face. "Yeah, bad kitty."

Jorgan lunged across the holoterminal to tackle the Weequay again. Fynta threw her hands up and snagged Cormac by the shoulder. "Come on, soldier, let's see if we can find a way to pry those two apart. I'm thinking electricity might work." They'd end up destroying her ship if she let this go on for too much longer. Granted, Vik deserved it. But, Aric should know better. She smiled with the knowledge that those two wouldn't be able to move tomorrow, and _that's_ when she'd make them clean up the mess.


	9. Lockpicking 101 (Smuggler & Corso)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corso does stupid things when he drinks, only this time, Hirani isn't as amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hippo's Creativity Challenge (Tumblr)  
> Word Count: 690  
> Characters: F!Smuggler and Corso  
> Prompt: "I taught you how to pick locks, and this is how you're using that skill?"  
> Author's Note: Because drunk Corso has never ceases to amuse me.

**Nar Shaddaa  
** **Red Light Sector**

"I taught you how to pick locks, and this is how you're using that skill?" Corso yelped when he felt the smack across his backside. "Not that I blame you, Darmas has excellent taste in spirits."

Corso looked over his shoulder and blanched at the pink skinned Twi'lek. He hung over the railing, ass in the air with his body contorted around the corner to avoid being seen by the security cameras. The rake and pick hung from the locking mechanism while he braced his hands against the wall to keep from landing on his face.

Hiran'iafan chuckled as she leaned against the door he was trying to unlock. "What _are_ you doing?"

Corso kept his eyes on the panel while he worked. "Go on back to the ship, Cap'n, I'll be there soon."

Hirani knocked two knuckles against the door before squatting to put herself even with Corso's face. "Want to tell me _why_ you're trying to break into Darmas's liquor cabinet?"

"No," the man huffed. His stomach and ribs were killing him from being draped over the narrow rail for so long. Since the boss was here, he supposed there really wasn't much of a need for secrecy anymore. His cover was already blown.

Pushing upright, Corso staggered as blood rushed from his head. "Darmas has something of mine; I'm just trying to get it back."

"Want me to take over?" Hirani wore the same smirk she did whenever he did something stupid. She'd made it clear early on that he wasn't her kind of guy. Hirani liked older men, the smooth talkers like Darmas, and that guy from Tatooine. Corso was too _nice_. That didn't keep him from thinking that she was the prettiest thing he'd seen, though.

Corso sighed, "I did something stupid."

Hirani looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. "Oh come on, you can't leave me hanging like that. I need someone knew to rag besides Guss."

Corso tipped his head back, hands on hips, and squeezed his eyes shut. "I lost a blaster in a game of Sabacc."

"Your Sabacc skills suck. Why in the hell would you play with Darmas?" Corso peeked one eye open to find Hirani standing in front of him looking far too entertained.

"There was alcohol involved." The Twi'lek snorted a laugh, and Corso bristled. "I didn't mean for it to happen, but Darmas said-some things-and I got a little riled up, and well." He flapped his hands at his sides in frustration.

Hirani pressed her fingers to her lips to hide her amusement. "So, which one was it this time? Fred, Sally, The Little Wampa That Could?" She'd always found the fact that he named his weapons hilarious and never missed an opportunity to heckle him about it. She even offered a suggestion now and then when he acquired a new one. Though, those usually made his face burn, and his ears turn red. For a woman who had zero sexual interest in him, Hirani certainly liked to tease.

Corso shuffled his feet and averted his eyes. "Flashy," he mumbled in the hopes that Hirani would dismiss it. When she didn't answer, Corso risked a glance up. Hirani no longer looked amused.

"You mean _my_ Flashy?" The Twi'lek crossed her arms to glare at him. He nodded, and her lekku twitched violently. "How did you get her out of the case?"

Corso flinched when Hirani took a step closer. She wasn't a skinny little waif like a lot of the girls from her species. She was thick and voluptuous, curvy in all the right places. She also knew how to throw that weight around. The Twi'lek snatched the lockpicking set from Corso's hands. He debated whether or not to answer as she squatted to take over the job, clearly intent on getting her blaster back. Hirani cleared her throat in an expectant way when the silence dragged on.

Corso rubbed the back of his neck. "You, uh, you taught me how to pick locks."


	10. Weapons Don't Cry (Sith Warrior & Jaesa Willsaam/Vette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hippo's Creativity Challenge  
> Word Count: 900  
> Characters: M! Sith Warrior and Jaesa Willsaam (platonic)  
> Summary: Darth Kozen successfully turned a Jedi Padawan against her master. Now, he must teach her how to be Sith.

**The Fury  
** **Outbound from Alderaan**

"Again."

Darth Kozen circled where his apprentice curled on the floor. Jaesa whimpered as she pushed onto her knees, blood dripping from her lip. The Sith watched her without pity, though it was clear that something weighed on the girls mind. Jaesa's attacks were sloppy, her footwork weak, and saber form lackluster.

Vette sat on a cargo crate swinging her legs while she watched the two spar. The Twi'lek perched somewhere during every match, though Kozen had yet to figure out why. "Come on, girl, get up!" Vette cheered Jaesa on from a safe distance away, offering Kozen a wink when he rolled his eyes.

Jaesa stood and ignited her lightsaber again. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face bore the distinct tear tracks through the grime. Kozen narrowed his eyes at the girl. When she attacked, the Sith Lord sidestepped the clumsy swing, glaring with disapproval. She came at him again, and Kozen dodged with ease, this time, shoving between her shoulder blades with enough force to spill her onto the floor again.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Jaesa stayed where she'd fallen, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Vette hopped off the crate and went to her side, squatting to rub her back while murmuring words of encouragement. "Give her a second, yeah?"

Kozen crossed his arms with a sigh. Both Vette and Jaesa were so young, the Twi'lek empathetic to those around her, while Jaesa's Jedi training corrupted her soul with compassion. Kozen would break the girl of this sooner or later, otherwise, she would not survive. Vette was under Kozen's protection as his slave, but one day, Jaesa would have to face other Sith alone.

"Will an enemy on the battlefield give you a chance to catch your breath?" Kozen called on the Force, pushing the two away from each other.

Vette fell backward, glaring at Kozen while Jaesa rolled across the floor. He hit her again, then again to prove his point. "You cannot show weakness, Jaesa Willsaam. It will be your end."

The former Padawan came to a stop against the far wall and curled in on herself. "Then so be it," she whispered into the floor. "It is no more than I deserve." Jaesa's voice shook with the unmistakable sound of sobs, and Darth Kozen recoiled.

Vette scurried over to her friend, petting her hair while humming a low tune. The Twi'lek cast angry eyes on Kozen. "She's frightened, can't you see that?" Vette's attention returned to Jaesa, her voice softening. "She dreams of her master's death at night. How can she not, with _you_ to replace him?"

Kozen grabbed Vette by the arm, hauling her upright, and shoved her towards the door. "Leave us." While he tolerated her insubordination when it amused him, the Twi'lek knew when not to push his patience. With one more glance at her friend, Vette stomped from the room.

The Sith Lord paced back and forth before his apprentice, watching the way Jaesa shook, her hands curling and uncurling against the durasteel floor. "What are you, Jaesa Willsaam?"

"I don't know, my lord," she answered, keeping her eyes downcast.

Darth Kozen threw out his hand, pinning the girl against the wall with the Force alone. He angled Jaesa's head so that he could look directly into her eyes. "What are you?" He asked again.

Anger flashed across Jaesa's face as she struggled against his hold on her. "I am lost."

Kozen snorted. "That is not good enough. You made a choice; what are you?"

The Sith saw the moment when the answer occurred to Jaesa, felt the spike in her emotions, then the sudden drop in her heart rate. She squared her shoulders, attempted to stand tall even while her feet dangled inches from the floor. "I am your apprentice, my lord."

That was the correct answer, but Kozen was not sure that he believed it. With a twitch of his fingers, his grip on her tightened until she gasped for breath. He drew closer, nearly face to face. "You are a weapon, and weapons do not cry."

Releasing his apprentice, Kozen turned his back and stalked a few meters away. "Shall we continue?"

The hum of a lightsaber answered Kozen's question. He smiled to himself, pleased that Jaesa had chosen to fight on. He could feel the swell of darkness within her as she drew on the anger to give her strength. Kozen ignited his own blade, turning to face her in time to block an overhead slash. They glared at one another through the glow of their sabers.

"What are you?" Kozen asked once more.

Jaesa pushed against him, eyes glowing faintly as she pulled more from the Dark Side of the Force in an attempt to overpower him. One day, she would, of course. Darth Kozen would need to ensure her loyalty was absolute. Jaesa snarled the words through gritted teeth. "I am a weapon."

"Good." Darth Kozen threw up a barrier that knocked the girl backwards, sending her staggering until she hit the wall. He held his blade aloft and pointed it directly at her. "Again."


	11. I Can Do Better (Theron Shan & Fynta Wolfe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron just got out of the medbay, and Fynta decides he needs to be a little more careful. Theron feels that the reckless Mandalorian is the last person who should be giving advice on staying out of harm's way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got that "Anything you can do, I can do better," song stuck in my head after an amusing conversation with Salacious_Crumpet about Fynta and Theron's unhealthy friendship. These two will never, not amuse me.

Theron threw himself into the chair across from Fynta and ran a hand down his face. She eyed the man, noting that he looked scruffier than usual, but neglected to comment on it. The silence stretched on as each became absorbed in their work. Finally, Theron sighed, dropped his datapad on the table, and huffed. "My head's killing me."

Fynta raised her eyes slowly, took a long pull of her caf, then went back to reading her messages. "It probably wouldn't hurt so badly if you didn't use it as a shield." The agent snorted, and Fynta smirked. "Granted, it is the hardest part of your body."

"You're one to talk," Theron grumbled, then fell silent.

They continued like that for some time, though Fynta became increasingly aware of his eyes on her face. She refused to crack first, and if she did, it would most likely be with her fist. She really shouldn't add to his list of new injuries just yet.

"I haven't had _that_ many concussions," Theron finally complained. He folded his arms over his chest and glared as if that had ever had any effect on her before.

Fynta sighed and laid her datapad aside. "You've hit your head quite a bit in the time that I've known you. Do you even know how many concussions you've had?"

Theron's head tipped to the side, eyes narrowing as he mentally ticked off the ones he could remember. "Seven." Fynta thought that sounded too low and arched a disbelieving eyebrow. "Maybe eight," he added through a sip of his caf.

"Are you counting that one on Alderaan?" Fynta asked. She remembered it well, though he probably didn't.

Theron regarded her with suspicion, then his eyes widened. " _You_ gave me that one!"

Fynta shrugged. "We were counting how many total, not just the ones from the enemy. And if memory serves, you deserved it."

"I'd just been tortured," the man argued, an annoyed flush creeping up his neck.

"Another bad habit you've developed," Fynta added with a nod. Theon managed to find himself in enemy custody a lot too. At least he was good at getting intel while there, though. He had a knack for reverse interrogation. Fynta pushed that all aside to keep them on topic. "Besides, you called me a disreputable name."

"Fine, eight."

Fynta thought back to their training days, the ones that Theron assured her he'd spent countless hours trying to forget, and grinned. "How about that time on Nar Shaddaa, with the Nicto gang?"

Theron coughed into his cup, dabbing his chin with the cuff of his sleeve, and cleared his throat a few times. "Oh yeah, I forgot about that one."

"I thought as much, you were pretty wasted. What was that girl's name again? The really tall one with all th—" Theron knocked his cup over and gave a few overzealous apologies while he dabbed it up with a napkin. Fynta figured she'd jogged his memory enough.

"Fine," the agent groused. "Nine, then. Happy now?"

Fynta leaned her elbows on the table and smiled at Theron while he continued to clean up the distraction. "What about on Hoth, and that one that I was pretty sure killed you on Dantooine?"

Theron paused halfway through the circle he had started and eyed Fynta. "You've been present during an alarming number of my concussions." She saw the wheels turning behind his eyes. "Should I reevaluate our friendship?"

Fynta offered a wide grin, the kind she knew would get under Theron's skin more than any words she could conjure up. Jorgan had made the same claim not long ago too. The man had never so much as broken a bone until Havoc-more precisely, Fynta-came into his life. The Cathar had just as much scar tissue and knitting in his medical scans as the rest of them now. If Fynta were a superstitious woman, she'd be concerned about these allegations. However, only a few of those had been a direct result of her actions, mostly, it was just the way the galaxy worked. If you hit hard, eventually, you got hit back.

The silence dragged on, and Theron tossed the napkin into a nearby bin. "So, we've settled on nine, right?" Fynta nodded, pulling herself back to the conversation. "Your turn."

Fynta didn't need to consider. It had become a running joke long ago between her and Dorne. Granted, Fynta found it more amusing than the medic. "Fifteen." Theron's mouth went slack, and his eyebrows jumped straight to his hairline. "Only a four since joining Havoc Squad. Dorne threatened to put me on a report if I managed another one."

"How are you still mobile?" Theron made a disgusted sound. As if the fact that Fynta was capable of sitting upright and carrying on a conversation was personally insulting. She got a cheap thrill out of his discomfort, or maybe it was his skepticism. Either way, she'd take it.

Fynta pushed to her feet, snagged her mug of caf, and smiled down at her old friend. "Lots of practice. At the rate you're going, you'll catch up soon enough." As she turned to head for the exit, placing her steps carefully to ensure she didn't ruin her grand exit by tripping over her own feet, Fynta swore she heard Theron mutter something to the effect of _not likely_. She smiled to herself. Perhaps, she'd ask Shan for a sparring match tomorrow.


	12. Unforeseen Circumstances (Jedi Knight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaeto Vaa is young and headstrong, so Master Orgus gives her a mission to set her straight. Of course, it all goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hippo's Creativity Challenge  
> Word Count: 806  
> Characters: F! Jedi Knight and Master Orgus Din  
> Prompt: "This is going to hurt when it's over."
> 
> I'm still figuring this character out. She's playing hard to get.

**Balmorra  
** **Balmorran Arms Factory**

The ground shook beneath Kaeto's feet. She stumbled to the side before Master Orgus caught her by the arm. "Well, that was a brilliant idea. Any others?"

"Give me a moment." Kaeto came up blank. No ideas, not even a smart assed come back for her overly sarcastic mentor. They'd argued about her readiness to take the trials to become a Jedi Knight. Kaeto felt she was ready, but Master Orgus disagreed. Kaeto had been through three masters now, and each one of them gave up on her after only a few months. Master Orgus, while not always present for her training, at least felt she was worth the effort.

An Imperial woman stumbled into Kaeto's path, so intent on getting to safety that she neglected to acknowledge that they were on opposite sides. Orgus had tasked Kaeto with creating a distraction while he snuck in and got the information they needed. A reactor malfunction _sounded_ like the perfect ticket. All it took was a few slashes with her lightsaber to overload the safety protocols. Unfortunately, no one told Kaeto that the Balmorran Arms Factory was more interested in building war machines than keeping their equipment up to code. The core had overheated much faster than anticipated, and now the entire building was inching towards a critical meltdown.

"We need to get these people to safety." Orgus scowled at the panicking figures around him, then up the ramp that led to the upper levels.

"Master, they are the enemy," Kaeto countered. "Wouldn't we have killed them anyway?"

Orgus snapped around to glare at his student. "No!" His face scrunched uncertainly. "Well, not all of them. Only the ones we had to."

"Right," Kaeto responded. "Do you think we can make it?"

"Not if we keep yapping. Go, now." Master Orgus jogged up the ramp, waving and pointing in the direction of the exit. Kaeto assumed that meant she was responsible for the lower levels.

All around, people darted in every direction, except towards safety. Some argued over the sirens about how to save the plant, while others shrieked in blind terror. Kaeto snagged one woman by the back of her lab coat and spun her towards the exit. The woman never slowed down, simply followed her new trajectory until she vanished around the corner. Kaeto hoped she was smart enough to head outside after that.

It took another ten minutes to round everyone on the lower levels up. Just as Kaeto prepared to contact her master, Orgus thundered down the ramp with a crowd of roughly a dozen people. He shoved Kaeto into the room she'd just cleared and slammed the door. "Too late, it's about to blow."

"Not to pick apart a brilliant strategy, Master, but I don't think that door will be enough."

Orgus spared his Padawan a sardonic glance before waving the people towards the back of the room. "No, but it'll keep everyone contained while we shield them."

"Oh." _Oh_. Kaeto's mouth dropped open even as she lowered her voice. "Can we shield that many?"

"We're about to find out."

Orgus pushed Kaeto back towards the crowd, closed his eyes, and raised his arms. Kaeto followed suit, calling on the living Force to raise a protective shield around as many as she could. The floor began to vibrate so hard that several of the people behind her toppled to the floor. Her knees ached from the stress staying upright put on them, and Kaeto pushed her shield a little further to encompass the man at the back of the crowd.

"This is going to hurt when it's over," Master Orgus muttered, though Kaeto didn't think he was talking to her.

The door burst open and blazing light rushed through. Kaeto felt the heat from the blast, so close that she swore her cheeks would burn. The people they protected screamed, and one woman dashed from the group like a startled hare. Her dying scream didn't last long. Thankfully, the others were smart enough to huddle closer to the Jedi.

The roar of the flames seemed to go on for eternity. When it finally died, Kaeto collapsed to her knees, shaking with exhaustion. Orgus groaned, digging his knuckles into his back. "I'm too old for this dwang."

Kaeto looked over her shoulder, noting that all but one of the people Orgus had brought from upstairs were accounted for. A tired and completely inappropriate laugh bubbled up her throat. "Look, Master, we only lost one this time."

"This time?" One of the men gasped.

Orgus shot Kaeto a threatening glare that spoke of another session of lines about not antagonizing Imperial survivors. While she loathed the fact that he used their lightsaber training times for this particularly sadistic punishment, Kaeto felt the look on the man's face was worth it.


	13. Underestimated (Sith Inquisitor/Andronikos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hippo's Creativity Challenge  
> Word Count: 936  
> Rating: T  
> Prompt: "Underestimate me. That'll be fun."
> 
> Solish does not suffer fools, no matter how amusing Andronikos finds them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've wanted to do something with this prompt for a long time, but nothing ever felt right. Until today, when my boss called to tell me that someone had tried to break into our place of employment after we left. She'd returned for something that she forgot to find that, within the last fifteen minutes or so, someone had tried to jimmy the door. This honestly isn't anything new, given my workplace. However, it sparked this little drabble. My boss is five foot nothing of pure terror when she wants to be. The perpetrator was lucky that she didn't catch him in the act.

**Nar Shaddaa  
** **Mezenti Spaceport**

Andronikos had hit the big time while Solish, Ashara, and Xalek were out doing their Force thing. She'd left the ship five days ago to train her apprentices in some Sith secret that Andronikos didn't have the slightest interest in. He'd muddled around on the ship, gambled a little, and drank a lot. It had been a lifesaver when the Dashade lumbered into the room stroking his chin. Naturally, that meant Zash was controlling the beast.

Zash pondered aloud about a shipment of rare artifacts that she thought might help the boss get the voices in her head to quiet down, and Andronikos hadn't done any honest pirating in too long. It hadn't taken long to convince him to borrow the ship for a couple of days. He'd sent Solish a message that he knew she wouldn't get until after her return, but at least that way the pirate couldn't be accused of stealing from a Sith. He doubted she'd mind.

The heist had gone perfectly, and Andronikos vowed to take Talos along with him on every job if he could talk the man into it. While Zash carried on with single-minded focus for the one item she'd needed, Drellik had been an unending wealth of knowledge about what was valuable or not. Andronikos doubted the man even understood that he planned to hock the items, he was just thrilled to be amongst so much history.

Everyone had walked away happy. Talos brought home a few souvenirs, Zash had her artifact, Khem had possession of his body again, and Andronikos stood to make a small fortune off the black market. Solish and her apprentices returned the next day to tales from their escapades. As expected, she'd been satisfied that everyone had a good time. The crazy Sith hated when her crew members grew bored.

The items that Andronikos pinched sold quickly, allowing him to treat his girl to dinner at his favorite restaurant inside the Star Cluster Casino. The place had been packed, of course, but Solish projected an aura that kept the crowd at bay. Afterward, they'd gambled a bit, watched the dancers, and decided to call it a night around three in the morning.

"That's interesting," Solish remarked, her head tipped to the side while as they stumbled through the spaceport.

Andronikos followed her gaze and squinted. Cathar had better eyesight, so it took him a moment to realize that there was a figure standing at the base of their ship's ramp. It was hard to tell from the distance, but it looked like he might be trying to slice into their security system. "Wanna go say hello?" The pirate asked with a snort. Nar Shaddaa had a reputation for being populated by idiots for a reason.

Solish smirked, two white fangs poking between her lips. She quickened her pace, moving with silent fluidity until she stopped behind the stranger. Folding tiny arms over her chest, the Cathar cleared her throat.

The man spun around, blade in hand, then looked down at the culprit. He grinned, almost slipping the knife back into its sheath, had it not been for Andronikos leaned against the hydraulic pistons that lowered the ramp. Keeping Andronikos in his peripheral, the man addressed Solish. "Hi there, cutie. What can I do for you?"

"Forgot your code?" The Cathar asked with an air of innocence that almost made the pirate laugh.

The intruder glanced back at the door, then offered a cruel smile as he brandished the weapon. "I think you know that answer to that. I'd run along it I were you." The man ignored Andronikos to walk a slow circle around Solish. She didn't wear her normal armor and mask when off duty, but chose revealing clothing that allowed her to blend in with the other alien species on Nar Shaddaa. She wasn't ready to out herself to the Dark Council as an alien yet, but never wasted an opportunity to have a good time in her own skin.

The man stopped behind Solish and bent closer. "Unless you wanted to join me. I'm sure I could find a way for us to pass the time."

Andronikos yawned loudly and tapped the grip of his blaster. That last drink had finally caught up with him, and this moron stood between him and bed. "How about this, buddy. Leave now, and maybe my friend here won't charbroil your ass."

"Shut your mouth, playboy, this is between me and the woman." Andronikos laughed that time. Even though he was well into his thirties, this guy clearly got the impression that he was an escort. The assumption was kind of flattering. "What do you sa—"

The poor bastard didn't even get to finish his proposition. Solish lifted a hand, lightning arcing between her fingertips, and the man went rigid. A few seconds later, his still smoking carcass slumped to the ground. Andronikos pushed off the ramp and toed the corpse, sparing the Cathar a questioning glance.

"He'd begun to bore me," Solish responded simply.

"You don't say." Andronikos never got used to the amount of power contained in those petite hands, no matter how often he witnessed the Sith's wrath.

Solish stepped over the man and keyed in the proper access code. She stretched as she waited for the door to open, then smiled over her shoulder, ignoring the dead man at the bottom of the ramp. "It was a wonderful evening, Andronikos. We must do it again."

Andronikos followed, sealing the door behind him. "Yeah, make sure Zash tells me the next time she finds another transport."


	14. Misused Resource (Imperial Agent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hippo's Creativity Challenge  
> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 1412  
> Characters: F! Imperial Agent. Kaliyo Djannis. 
> 
> Nothing is ever easy for Cipher Nine, especially when Sith are involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, I have to remind myself that Zolah is a loyal Imperial pragmatist. It's easy to lose that icy feel of a character once you've gotten to know them. So, this little drabble is an attempt to recapture that before taking Family is more than Blood into the Yavin arc. That, and I love playing with Kaliyo's blatant lack of respect for . . . well, anything.

**Dromund Kaas**  
**Kaas City**

Laughter pulled Zolah from her migraine induced slumber under the bridge in Kaas City. Someone slapped her on the back before grabbing her arms to haul her upright. "Never thought I'd find you in a ditch, Agent. You must've partied pretty hard while I was gone."

Zolah squinted into the perpetually cloudy sky, then at the Rattataki in front of her. "Where were you?" Kaliyo had been Zolah's insurance against this very outcome.

Kaliyo shrugged. "I got made by an old associate and had to take care of a misunderstanding. You look like you made out alright. That the guy?" She nodded to the pair of boots that protruded from behind the garbage bin.

The Chiss agent nodded, then immediately regretted the action. "Yes, he must've dosed me just before I snapped his neck." She swayed and grabbed the rubbish container for balance. Perhaps Doctor Lokin could mix something up to help nullify what her implants couldn't. No doubt she'd be dead without the cybernetics. Unfortunately, the after effects of blood scrubbers was the mother of all hangovers.

The two women had just finished disposing of the body when Zolah's holo rang. She held it up and pressed the button, only to realize that it was the other one when the buzzing continued. With another muttered curse, Zolah answered her official line. "Nine speaking." She never gave her name over this one. A name was a precious secret that could lead down all sorts of nasty roads should the wrong people obtain it.

"Greetings Cipher," Keeper said in the same matter of fact way she always did. "I have a new mission for you. This is below your skill level, however, the benefactor is high enough in our bureaucracy to warrant the best."

Zolah sighed and straightened her spine. "Of course, Keeper. I'm listening."

"A certain child has been taken from a Sith family in Kaas City. The girl's mother is a non-Force sensitive who refused to send their daughter to Korriban. The father wishes her returned immediately so that she can do her duty. I'm sending you the information now." Zolah's implant chirped behind her eardrum to announce the package's arrive. "We are on a deadline, Cipher. Twenty hours."

Zolah didn't ask what would happen should they fail to meet the timetable. When Sith were involved, it was best not to ask too many questions, and prepare for all eventualities. "We'll take care of it," she answered.

Keeper offered a curt nod, then hesitated. "Do be careful."

The image vanished to show Kaliyo leaning against the bin. "Aw, she's such a cute one. I don't know why you won't let me have a go at her."

Zolah rolled her eyes, "Speak nothing of the fact that she helped throw you in prison while I was on Corellia." Thankfully, Raina had held out. Actually, the girl had done quite well for herself. Zolah pulled the intel up on her datapad and scrunched her nose in annoyance. "These coordinates are damn well on the other side of the jungle."

Kaliyo held out a hand, a key lying in its palm. "Looks like the dead guy had good taste. Let's see what he was driving."

It took three hours to reach the coordinates in the flashy corvette model. She'd used the time to fill Vector in on the mission, ignoring the way his lips pressed together at the news that her system still held traces of an unknown toxin. He'd requested a blood sample in the same tight tone he used every time she mentioned taking Kaliyo on a mission with her. Imperial Intelligence supplied the best tech for their operatives, even so, Zolah had sprung for a few added enhancements. She pressed her finger to the small device that she kept in her portable medkit, then plugged the results into her datapad. Within seconds, Vector had the readout and assured her that Lokin would begin work on an antidote at once.

Kaliyo made antagonistic cooing sounds when Vector argued that Zolah should return to the ship for more reliable backup, and the man had ended the call with an annoyed huff. "Shame," Kaliyo said with a grin. "I was _this_ close to making him lose that cool veneer he hides behind. I bet there's a real beast under there."

"Careful what you wish for," Zolah murmured, only half paying attention as she scrolled over the information in the dossier again. There wasn't much. The girl in question was around thirteen, human, with completely average looks. Her father reported the theft—Zolah paused over that phrasing. Theft was a peculiar thing to label an abduction. Was Keeper trying to pass on a message?

"We're here." Kaliyo's announcement pulled Zolah around. She'd parked them on the outskirts of the Dark Temple. Of all the places to hide a Force sensitive child, a temple that housed the majority of ghosts on the planet would not have been Zolah's first choice.

The two women worked through the massive building, occasionally coming across the odd raging lunatic or possessed soldier. Those were easily dispatched and posed little threat. At last, they found the woman and child in one of the rooms on the upper levels. To Zolah's surprise, the woman was an alien. She cowered in fear behind the girl, and instantly, Zolah knew something was wrong.

"Ah, there are my pets." Zolah and Kaliyo spun to train their weapons on a Sith with skin so pale that Zolah could see every vein in his thin body. Kaliyo swore an oath, and the Sith responded with a flick of his wrist, sending the Rattataki sprawling into the wall. "There is no need for such language."

Zolah watched carefully as the Sith stalked over to the girl and stroked her hair. "Come now, you've had your fun. It's time to go home."

"Might I have your name, My Lord?" Zolah asked, keeping her rifle trained on the Sith's back. The girl clearly hated the man standing in front of her, and kept herself protectively between him and the Miraluka desperately trying to press herself into the wall.

The Sith looked over his shoulder, leveling Zolah with pale, yellow eyes. "I am the reason you are here, Agent Holran." Zolah lowered her weapon, but she kept the safety off. He'd openly threatened her by using her name instead of rank, and the Chiss agent hadn't survived this long by trusting a Sith's mercy.

"You can't have her," the girl spat. She received the back of her father's hand for her insolence. She squeaked, putting a hand to her cheek as she staggered to the side.

"Hush, child. You've nearly reached the end of my patience." The Sith grabbed the Miraluka woman by the hair and hauled her to her feet. A faint, golden glow surrounded her, then abruptly died. Zolah sucked in a breath.

The Sith hauled the woman, somewhere in her late thirties is Zolah had to guess, in front of him. They stopped before the cipher agent, and his polite façade vanished as he practically snarled his next words. "I trust this will stay between us." Zolah nodded, lowering her eyes in submission. She could feel the energy reverberating from him and didn't fancy trying to best a Darth in a place as steeped in Force energy as the temple.

Zolah kept her eyes averted until the man vanished down the stairs with his prizes. She went to Kaliyo, who put a hand on the back of her head with a growled curse. Zolah felt vindicated that they'd come full circle. The Rattataki looked around, blinking to clear the haze. "Where's the bounty?"

"Gone," Zolah answered, pulling Kaliyo upright. She didn't tell her that the Sith had used Imperial resources to track down a Jedi prisoner. One his own daughter had helped escape. From the look of the poor creature, she'd been in his care for many years. Her olive skin looked yellow, her eyes clouded, and the fear was palpable. Idly, Zolah wondered what would happen to her when they returned to his house. Nothing good, for sure.

Zolah shook the thoughts away. The Sith, Jedi, and daughter were no longer her problem. She'd performed her duty for the Empire, mission complete. Zolah pulled out her holo to comm Keeper. She looked forward to getting back to the Blade where Lokin would have hopefully discovered an antidote, then, she could take a nap.


	15. Micor-drabble prompt: Overgrown (Havoc Squad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balic Cormac is a giant child, and we love him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request on Tumblr from Melissagt for a microdrabble prompt (I highly recommend her work). Yes I know this isn't _technically_ a micro, but come on, I'm getting there.
> 
> The prompt was: Overgrown  
> Word Count: 251

“Balic Cormac, of all the foolish, idiotic, childish,” Elara’s thickly accented rant chased her husband from the medbay. The big man skid to a stop, nearly boweling Fynta over, then ducked instinctively as a bag of cotton swabs flew over his head.

Fynta took cover instantly because she knew how good Dorne’s aim was. When Cormac followed, Fynta shoved him away. “No way, I don’t know what you did, but stay away from me.”

Cormac pushed past Fynta into the armory with her, earning them both an eyebrow raise from Jorgan. “It wasn’t even meant for her,” Cormac explained while trying to shove his bulk into the already crowded room. “I’d intended it for Vik, but Elara triggered it early.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jorgan grumbled, the grunted when Fynta’s elbow connected with his stomach. Cormac had managed to get into the armory enough to shut and lock the door, leaving the three soldiers squished together. 

Cormac held his breath as the sound of angry boots stomped past. Then, breathed a sigh of relief. “Come on, boss. Can’t you stash me somewhere until she calms down?”

Fynta’s voice answered in a muffled gasp from where she was crushed between the two men. “Fine, just let us out.”

“Thank you, I owe you one.” Cormac’s relief was palpable. Fynta counted the seconds until she’d pass out, nudging the big man impatiently in the back. When he spoke again, it was with a nervous laugh. “Uh, the door’s jammed.”


	16. Micro-drabble prompt: Defy (Trooper/Aric Jorgan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life Day mishaps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word was defy, requested by cavalier-life (Tashlen on AO3), and I’ll admit that it threw me until the awesome Dimigex suggested looking at it from another perspective. Also, I’m getting closer to making it a micro. :D
> 
> Word Count: 159

“I thought we’d come to an agreement,” Fynta said, holding a brightly foiled box.

Aric smirked at his wife’s dry tone, allowing it to spread into a full grin when her eyes narrowed. “I don’t actually remember agreeing,” he added. In fact, he’d remained silent during the entire discussion about gifts for Life Day. He enjoyed it, mostly because it was one of the few things he excelled at. Fynta, for all of her talents, was a terrible gift giver.

“I’m not opening it,” Fynta groused. “You disobeyed a direct order, I should have your stripes.”

Aric chuckled and leaned closer to his wife. He waited until he was a breath away from her ear before he whispered, “It’s the latest model.”

Fynta sucked in a breath, tearing through the wrapper and ripping open the box. She offered a feral grin, turning the item over in her hands. “What do you say, soldier. Ready to give it a try?”


	17. Overdue IOU (Trooper/Aric Jorgan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta isn’t nearly as sneaky as she thinks she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Mature  
> Word Count: 1165  
> A/N: This is in response to Yrien, who requested a drabble to follow up “Regrets” from the Dec. Writing Challenge where Jorgan discovers his missing booze, and Fynta has to think fast. It didn’t quite turn out the way I expected, and is a lot tamer than I thought it would be, but I’m still giving it an M rating.

Fynta tripped over her discarded boots and landed on the mattress. Jorgan nearly followed, but managed to catch himself on the edge. With a grin, Fynta wrapped her fingers in her husband's shirt and nudged his thighs apart to throw him off balance. Aric collapsed onto Fynta with a grunt, and she silenced his budding complaint with a kiss.

In seconds, the Cathar’s body molded against Fynta’s, his irritation evaporating into the grinding of their hips. Aric’s hands worked over her shoulders, down her arms, and eventually settled on her waist. He lifted his weight enough to push Fynta’s shirt up to her throat, then nipped playfully at the swell of her breasts.

Fynta closed her eyes and arched in a silent plea for more pressure. Aric responded with vigorous grinding, shoving her bra in the same direction as the shirt to suck at the tender flesh beneath. Eventually, he worked the fabric of both articles of clothing over her head, and a pleased rumble rose in the back of his throat. Fynta opened her eyes to find Aric staring at her with unabashed desire.

Aric pulled his shirt over his head and leaned over Fynta again. This time, he didn’t let their bodies touch, simply looked into her eyes while their breathing fell into natural synchronization. Fynta jumped when his hand slipped behind her back, and he chuckled softly. “It’s been a while since we had the ship to ourselves,” he murmured, pressing his face between her breasts, then looking up to meet her gaze. “Maybe we should take advantage of it.”

Fynta propped on her elbows and smiled at the adorable expression on Aric’s face. It was so earnest, open in a way that he so rarely allowed. It made Fynta want to agree to anything. “Are you suggesting that we take our time,” she asked, eyebrow raised.

A feral grin slid into place as Aric slowly rose to meet Fynta’s lips. He brushed them gently, barely grazing his teeth before taking it deeper. When he pulled back, Fynta couldn't remember how to breathe. “Think you can manage?”

Aric's challenge cleared the fog of lust, and Fynta matched him with a confidence that she didn't feel. “You’re on.” 

Aric pushed off of Fynta and began removing his belt. His fingers worked slowly, with the ease of intimate familiarity that made Fynta’s heart pound. She licked her lips, then realized that he was watching her reactions with a satisfied smirk. The damn man knew her weaknesses and planned to exploit them. 

“Shabuir,” she muttered, rolling off the bed.

Fynta moved to the desk to flip through their playlists for music. The belt smacked the wall beside her, then slid onto the desk. She intentionally ignored it. A moment later, warm hands encircled her waist, then slid between her legs from behind. 

Fynta bucked her hips, smiling when Aric grunted from the force. “I’m trying to find something to set the mood,” she answered, then slid a smile over her shoulder. “What was the name of that song you liked last time?”

Aric leaned away from Fynta and slapped her ass as he headed towards his footlocker. “I told you, I thought it was something else. They have a similar intro.” He opened the wall locker and grabbed the box where he stored two glass tumblers. “Want a drink?”

Fynta’s body tensed when she realized that she’d forgotten to replace the whiskey that she and Cormac polished off a few nights earlier. If Aric opened his trunk and realized that they were gone, his playful mood would evaporate.

Spinning to catch the back of Aric’s pants, Fynta hauled him towards her. The Cathar sucked in a breath as he stumbled, and Fynta braced to take the impact. Wrapping her hands around his waist, Fynta pressed against his bare back and ran her fingers through the thin layer of fur covering his stomach. 

“You could have just said no,” Aric grumbled, though he didn’t try to pull away.

“Trying to get me drunk is cheating,” she purred, letting her hands slide over the growing bulge in his pants. She groped and fondled, paying attention to the way Aric’s breathing hitched. If she could distract him long enough, then she might win the bet and still be able to replace the whiskey.

Reaching down to snag her wrist, Aric cleared his throat. “Then, I’ll just get me one.”

Fynta spun around to face her husband and unsnapped the first two buttons on her pants. Aric narrowed his eyes in suspicion. She popped one more and wiggled her hips playfully. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect than desired. Aric stepped away from her and crossed his arms. “You’re up to something.”

“I am,” Fynta agreed with a coy smile. “Trying to seduce a stubborn husband.”

Aric remained unconvinced. “You’re trying too hard. Normally, you'd just push me onto the bed. What’s going on?”

Damn, he was right. If Fynta hadn’t been trying to be clever, she'd have taken a more aggressive approach. Still, maybe she could salvage the situation. “I was trying to play along for your sake,” Fynta answered weakly. "You always complain that I'm in a hurry."

It didn't work. Aric looked around the room, then at his footlocker. Fynta had placed herself between him and it, a fact she could see registering behind his eyes. “Haar’chak,” she sighed. “Cormac and I drank your whiskey, and I forgot to buy another bottle.”

Jorgan chuckled and patted her shoulder as he squeezed by. “I’ve got another one.”

Fynta winced. “We drank both. And, the one you had stashed behind the headboard.”

Aric paused mid-step and looked back at her, his expression a hilarious contortion of shock. “You two drank three bottles, alone?” Fynta nodded. “When?”

“Couple of days ago.” Fynta shrugged. “We got to talking, and just never stopped drinking. That big guy can hold a lot of booze.”

Aric ran a hand down his face, then sighed. “Fine, but you owe me three bottles next time we’re at the Dealer’s Den.”

Fynta lept at the chance to salvage their evening and stalked closer. She popped the last button of her pants and smiled “Is that all that I owe you?” She leaned against Aric's chest, trailing her nails down his stomach before slipping them into the waistband of his pants. “I’d like to make this up to you.” She gave him a gentle squeeze, and Aric sucked in a slow breath.

“Clothes. Off,” he ordered, pulling Fynta’s hand free so that he could unfasten his trousers. 

Fynta had just removed the last of her clothing when Aric flopped onto the bed. He scooted closer to the headboard and folded his hands behind his head. “Alright, woman,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk. “Make it up to me.”


	18. Heavy Resistance (Imperial Agent)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zolah is being forced to tag along on a Star Fortress mission because reasons that I haven’t fully fleshed out. And she isn’t super thrilled about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Teen  
> Word Count: 399  
> A/N: So, here’s the thing. This little section didn’t survive the chapter edit, but it amused the hell out of me, and I didn’t want to lose it. So, I thought I’d post it as a drabble. It’s only lightly edited since I cut it from the chapter, and posted as is

Fynta waited until the men were gone, then crossed her arms and leaned against the table. “Have you ever fought in heavy armor?” 

“Not particularly well,” Zolah admitted through gritted teeth. She took up position opposite of Fynta and used studying the layout of the Star Fortress as an excuse to avoid the other woman’s eyes. 

Fynta pushed off the table to face Zolah. “If you start to struggle, flash my comm and I’ll find some discreet way to carry you through.” Zolah snorted at the mere thought of requesting aid from the commander. “I’m guessing that I need to get you to that command post in the middle, right?” The image zoomed in to reveal their goal. 

Zolah nodded. “I’m the only one capable enough to slice their system before it can reboot.” 

“Then, I’ll carry your ass there if I have to. Your pride be damned, Cipher.” Fynta smirked when Zolah bristled at her old call sign. “Go up top and visit Paia, she might have something that will work for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my own pre-mission routine to follow.” 

Fynta strode from the room without a backward look, and Zolah ground her teeth. She hated heavy armor. Her frame wasn’t built for it, the stuff chafed like mad, and it never gave her enough room to move. To top it all, Fynta was right. Zolah despised that even more. 

“Dear gods, I’m turning into Theron,” she murmured. 

With a resigned sigh, Zolah switched off the holotable and retrieved her comm. It rang twice before Vector answered. “Yes, beloved?” 

“Vector, do you know where Theron is at the moment?” Zolah stopped at the door to ensure that the man in question wasn’t in the War Room. 

“We do not,” Vector answered with a delicately raised eyebrow. “If you like, we could—” 

“No,” Zolah answered too quickly, then rolled her eyes when her husband’s brow inched higher. “I need your help finding some armor, but I’ll never hear the end of it if Theron finds out. You know how he and Fynta are constantly arguing that blasted topic, he’ll accuse me of taking her side.” 

Vector’s lips twitched. “Of course. We wouldn’t want that.” 

“Don’t start, you,” Zolah admonished, though more playfully than she’d intended. “Just meet me at that old woman’s hut, and for gods’ sake, don’t tell anyone.”


	19. Interrupted Hunt (Fynta Wolfe Fight Scene)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fynta’s hunt is interrupted by the last person she’d expect, and realizes that it’s not just the big targets she needs to look out for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for Tumblr's OC Fight Week 2018, you can follow the tag #OCFight18 on there for more great moments by tons of participants.
> 
> Word Count: 1373  
> A/N: Ahuska belongs to Dingoat, thank you so much for letting me borrow her! Mando'a translations at the end.

 

It had been a while since Fynta’s last hunt. Too long, to be honest. This little stint was supposed to be a vacation, planned and orchestrated by Verin and his new clan. Fynta had spent so many years hunting down sentient beings, that it almost seemed unfair to stalk animals. However, she’d been invited on a hunt, and Fynta damn well needed a break. Not to mention, spending a little time with her brother.   
  
A strapping male varactyl pawed at the ground not twenty meters away. He shook his head, ruffling pale, blue plumage and snorting at whatever he’d discovered hidden in the dirt. Fynta lifted her rifle and stared down the sight to pinpoint the perfect spot for an instant kill. She’d settled for center mast above the creature's sternum, and began her breathing technique to ensure a clean shot.   
  
Fynta’s finger tightened on the trigger, then just a missle, small and sharp, threw her off balance. When Fynta rolled to face the new threat, she was met with the elongated T-shaped visor of another Mandalorian. Momentarily stunned, the other female caught Fynta’s faceplate with a fierce right hook that would have definitely cracked her jaw were she not armored. Fynta staggered from the blow, impressed by the strength from a creature that only reached her shoulder.    
  
While Fynta gaped at the unexpected interruption, the female threw herself at Fynta, knocking them both off their feet, and landing Fynta in the dirt with a grunt. Her opponent rained a hail of blows across Fynta’s helmet and upper body, sputtering so furiously that she couldn’t make out which language it was in.    
  
Arching her back, Fynta bucked the small female off of her, then gave a shove to disentangle them completely. As she rolled back to her feet, Fynta marveled at how easy that had been, then again when the woman sprang back to an attack. The moment of distraction allowed for her opponent place herself between Fynta and her prey. The varactyl watched from his place in the grass, head tilted to the side and feathers fully extended in warning. When Fynta took a step to the left, the woman countered to keep herself in the middle.    
  
“So, what are you, then?” Fynta asked, searching for any clue as to the woman’s species. There were several who could still lay her flat without breaking a sweat, despite their small stature.   
  
Silence met Fynta’s request, so she shrugged. “Fine, I’ll figure it out myself.”    
  
Diving towards her opponent, Fynta managed to get her arm around the woman’s shoulders, but the damn thing twisted out of her grasp to land a solid kick to her thigh. Fynta retaliated by throwing her weight against the woman’s smaller frame, pinning her for a moment before losing her grip again.   
  
Fynta grunted with the force of another kick that landed solidly against her ribs. “Fierfek,” she cursed, spinning to find the woman standing behind her. “You’re a fast little shabuir, aren’t you?”   
  
The woman remained in a ready squat, arms loose and legs planted for balance. Fynta’s gut told her that this wasn’t some shiny adiik, at least, not judging by the dings in her armor. Slowly, the woman unhooked a length of rope from her belt, winding it purposefully around her hand.   
  
“As intriguing as I find you,” Fynta began, cradling her rifle in the crook of her arm in reply to the threat, then nodding towards the varactyl. “You’re standing between me and my dinner.”    
  
“Boy is  _ not _ your dinner,” the tinny voice growled back. Fynta smiled behind her faceplate. Those vocal patterns definitely weren’t human. Neither was the predatory crouch that the woman dropped into in preparation for an attack. Fynta noted the rope knotted around the woman’s glove, creaking as she squeezed it tighter.    
  
Fynta sighed. While not having access to such weapons herself, it would be dishonorable to simply shoot an opponent who didn’t draw a weapon. It was custom to meet a challenger on their terms, and this woman had chosen to avoid blasters. So much for an easy hunt.    
  
“That won’t stop me,” Fynta commented, slipping the strap of her rifle over her shoulder. “I’ll finish with you,  _ then _ take care of dinner.”    
  
Without hesitation, Fynta launched herself at the smaller target and slammed them both into the ground. Fynta pinned the woman, using her knees this time, and landed two solid blows before her target slipped from beneath her. “Haar’chak, how the hell do you do that?” Was this what Cormac or Vik felt like while fighting her?   
  
The rope coiled around Fynta’s wrist before she could stagger to her feet, and she was jerked backward with a force that belied the woman’s stature. Having lost the element of surprise, Fynta relied on brute strength. She gave a solid yank on the rope, snatching it from the woman’s grasp, and slinging the length away. “That’s enough of that.”   
  
Varactyl forgotten, Fynta stalked towards the smaller woman, snarling behind her helmet when her opponent retreated towards an outcropping of rocks. Mandalorians didn’t retreat. It made Fynta feel like a fierfeking ori'jagyc, an over-powered bully taking out her frustrations on a weaker target. 

Adrenaline coursed through Fynta’s system, blocking out all other senses except for the drive to fight. By the time she realized that she’d been lured into a trap, it was too late to back out. Perhaps she wasn’t the bully after all, but a lumbering oaf who thought too much of her own skill.   
  
Fynta swung, intending to end their altercation before the woman could launch whatever counterattack she’d planned. The punch flew wide, meeting nothing but air when the woman easily ducked her blow. “Shab,” Fynta cursed over the shriek of beskar scraping against stone.   
  
A weight landed on Fynta’s back, and she cursed the agility of smaller beings. Her skillset was in taking down opponents larger than herself, making her feel unwieldy against someone who so easily outmaneuvered her. And, as the woman locked her arm around Fynta’s throat, she realized that she couldn’t remember  _ ever _ fighting someone so much smaller. She wondered what Verin would do, and almost laughed when the answer presented itself.    
  
Relaxing her muscles, Fynta let gravity solve her problem, and fell backwards. Her weight drove the breath from the woman still clinging to her back, and sent one hell of a shock up Fynta’s spine as well. Rolling over, Fynta scrambled onto her knees and pushed the ache in her left hip to the back of her mind.   
  
The figure groaned.   
  
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Fynta snorted, leaning back on her heels to catch her breath. “I’m not  _ that _ heavy.”   
  
Still, the woman didn’t move.    
  
Curiosity drove Fynta to reach for the seals on the helmet, and her spry little opponent didn’t protest. Not much, anyway. She pulled the elongated faceplate free to meet the furry features of a Bothan. A fierfeking, Bothan Mandalorian. Now, Fynta had seen everything.    
  
Flipping the helmet over, Fynta gazed in awe at the inner workings of a specially tailored HUD built to work with the canine features of its owner’s species. The Bothan female, who had yet to unscrew her eyes, groaned again and slapped her helmet out of Fynta’s hands.    
  
Rivalry no longer at the forefront of Fynta’s mind, she patted the woman’s leg plate. “If it makes you feel any better, I learned that move my brother. My  _ big _ brother,” Fynta explained with a laugh. “So, who are you?”   
  
“Ahuska,” the Bothan gasped, sitting up slowly to pin Fynta with an angry glare from two of the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. “And, you still can’t eat my pet.”   
  
Fynta chuckled, then rubbed at a sore spot on her ribs. Copikla was the word that came to mind, but she imagined that Ahuska wouldn’t appreciate that. So, Fynta changed tactics. “Tell you what. Explain to me how a Bothan ended up in beskar’gam, and the overgrown chicken gets a pass.”    
  
Ahuska narrowed her eyes, and Fynta’s grin widened. This story sounded a lot more interesting than taking another pelt back to the den anyway. Offering her forearm in a gesture of comradery, Fynta prompted further. “Deal?”   
****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fierfek [FIRE-fek] a Huttese slang word that meant “hex” or “curse,” but was commonly accepted to mean “poison” by non-Huttese-speaking races. Later adopted as an expletive.  
> shabuir [SHAH-boo-EER] Jerk, used as a term of endearment in this instance  
> adiik [AH-deek] child aged 3 to 13  
> Haar'chak [HAR-chak] Damn it  
> ori'jagyc [OH-ree-JAHG-eesh] bullying; also bully, swaggering big-mouth - someone who picks on someone smaller  
> copikla [koh-PEEK-lah] charming, cute (babies and animals - never women unless you want your head ripped off)


	20. Hair Raising (Havoc Squad - Fynta Wolfe & Balic Cormac)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of laziness turns into a playful wrestling match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 839  
> Rating: G  
> Characters: Fynta Wolfe & Balic Cormac (Best buds forever)  
> A/N: This came from a conversation with Dimigex about men’s reactions to women’s messy hair. I have no regrets. Also, I need more of these two dorks in my life.

Cormac glanced up from his holozine. He had settled into a chair across from Fynta’s room to indulge in a little light reading when movement distracted him. It took Cormac a moment to realize what was off about the Havoc commander, until the swaying above her head drew his attention.

Fynta stared down at the datapad in her hands, oblivious to Cormac’s prying gaze. It wasn’t until she’d seated herself across from the big man that she felt his eyes on her. Looking up through her lashes, Fynta faced the horrified expression that would have been comical were it not directed at her.

“What?” Fynta asked, wariness sneaking up her spine. She cast around the room for the source of Cormac’s distress, then back at him when nothing obvious jumped out at her.

Cormac stood with calculated slowness to take the seat beside Fynta’s. His eyes narrowed at the top of her head, then his index finger rose to jab at the pile of hair that she’d hurriedly situated there. Cormac hissed in mock terror. “What is this?” He asked, poking at her hair more.

Fynta slapped Cormac’s hands away, but he refused to be deterred. The big man reached around her defenses to fondle the mess of blonde strands on top of her head again. “It’s just hair,” she complained, swatting at his fat fingers. “You better stop before Jorgan or Dorne catches you.”

The threat fell on deaf ears as Cormac stood to get a better look at Fynta’s new style. He’d seen her hair down and in a long braid, but the man had no idea that it was capable of such height. “It wiggles,” he stated, chuckling when a light slap caused the whole knot to sway to one side before settling back into its original position. “How the hell does it do that?”

Fynta punched her best friend in the gut, not hard enough to do lasting damage, but with enough force to push him back. “For fierfek’s sake, doesn’t Elara throw her hair into a messy bun from time to time?” She’d done it in an effort to be lazy after showering, and a braid felt like too much work. Next time, she’d take the extra five minutes.

“Well, yeah,” Cormac answered, grinning like an idiot. “But, it never looks like  _that_.” He waved a hand at the mass of tangles. Elara’s hair only reached her shoulders, not quite capable of the volume Fynta had managed. “That’s just cool.”

Cormac took another step, intent on aggravating the commander more, but Fynta dodged away. “No way, soldier. Hands off the do.” She dropped into a defensive crouch, dark blue eyes glittering in a challenge.

Cormac lunged, but Fynta skirted around the row of chairs to put a barrier between them. Cormac grinned, using his greater reach to pop the bun on top of Fynta’s head. He laughed when she growled in frustration, then let out a grunt when they both hit the floor. Fynta straddled Cormac’s stomach while he blocked her attempts get at his bald head.

Grabbing one of Fynta’s wrists, Cormac rolled them both to pin it by her side while protecting his groin from her knees. The violent movement caused strands of Fynta’s hair to break free of their bindings to scatter around her face. Fynta puffed out an annoyed breath, causing the wayward hair to billow into the air before settling into their original positions.

Cormac laughed so hard that he lost his grip and received a brutal slap to the ear for his mistake. Fynta kicked the big man off of her and shoved the now mostly scattered hair out of her face. “Had enough?” She asked with a playful snarl.

Fynta knew what that particular grin meant, and leapt out of the way in time to avoid being tackled. Her right foot wasn’t so lucky, and she stumbled into the holoterminal. With Cormac holding her by the toes, Fynta planted her metal foot in an effort to pull free. Cormac chose that moment to let go, and Fynta sprawled backward over the terminal to land with a grunt on the other side.

Cormac had just cleared the impromptu divider when Fynta threw herself at him again, slamming them both into a shelf containing dataspikes and other small equipment. The shelf came loose, raining electronic slicing gear onto their heads. Both soldiers groaned in defeat as running boots sounded from different directions.

Jorgan slid to a stop, gaping his wife and Cormac who sat in a tangle of limbs, surrounded by sensitive equipment that would probably need to be replaced. Elara appeared from the opposite side of the ship, her expression mirroring his. “What have you done?” She asked in breathless exasperation.

Cormac offered his wife a sheepish grin, before looking down to see what was left of Fynta’s top-knot right below his nose. He fluffed it playfully, proclaiming himself the winner with a victorious laugh. His humor faded to a grunt when Fynta’s fist connected with his ribs.


	21. Bump In The Night (Havoc Squad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange sounds wake Balic Cormac, and he can’t help but give in to his curiosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: T  
> Word Count: 495  
> Written for the Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme:  
> 26.Tending an injury for Fynta and Jorgan - requested by MelissaGT
> 
> A/N: I literally have full chapters dedicated to this, even a completely separate one shot called Tacky Negligence. So, trying to find a new way to spin this took a lot of thought. It was a fun challenge though.

Cormac came awake to a noise that he couldn’t remember hearing. Blinking at the dark ceiling, he rubbed a hand over his face and yawned. The chrono read just after midnight GST, so he hadn’t been out for too long.

“Stop being such a baby.”

It took the big man’s sleep addled mind longer than it should have to realize that the words weren’t aimed at him. The voice had come from the room next door. Something banged against the wall, and Cormac tipped his head to look at the headboard as if that would give him answers.

“What am I supposed to tell Dorne when she asks about this?” A deep voice rumbled through the thin partition. It finally registered that the sounds were coming from Fynta and Jorgan’s room. Balic glanced at his wife, who slept with her back towards him. Curiosity alone kept him from rolling over to join her.

“Just tell her that it was worth it,” Fynta replied, leaving Cormac to wonder what in the hell he’d woken up to. Knowing the major, he probably should put in some ear protection and go back to sleep.

Against his better judgement, Cormac flopped onto his back to listen further. Jorgan growled again. “Can’t you do anything the normal way?”

A broad grin split Cormac’s face. He was pretty sure Jorgan hadn’t meant that the way it sounded, then again… Fynta snapped back with her usual sass. “You weren’t complaining a few minutes ago.” There was a scuffle, followed by another thud. “Okay, let’s try this.”

Jorgan yelped, then snarled so deeply that Cormac was sure he’d felt the subsonic vibrations through his own bed. “Okay,” Fynta breathed, less amused this time. “I won’t do that again.”

“Just get the damn thing out,” Jorgan snapped.

Cormac had to bite the back of his hand to keep from waking Elara with his laughter. It didn’t work. The bed shook so violently from his suppressed mirth that his wife sat straight up? “What is going on?” She blinked sleepily, then looked at the wall when Jorgan cried out again.

In an instant, Elara had her clothes on and was headed for the door. Cormac sat up to stop her. “Not sure that’s such a great idea, love,” he called, but she’d already slipped from the room.

Seconds later, Elara gasped. “Oh my gods, what did you do?” Cormac scrambled into his shorts. He had to know what was going on. “Look at this mess,” she admonished further.

Cormac swung into the hallway and through the commanders’ door to a scene of bloody towels strewn across the room and Jorgan face down on the bed. He lost it. Double over in laughter and clutching his ribs while the Cathar tried to sink further into the mattress.

Cormac had just regained his composure when Fynta jumped back with her hands raised in surrender. “I can explain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to show a type of affection different from the standard fluff that one would expect from such a prompt. These four individuals have a strange relationship, each one of them expressing concern in different ways. Fynta solves the problem, Dorne fixes whatever she messes up, and Cormac breaks the tension.


End file.
